Along the Midnight Edge
by Keiran
Summary: Narnia ended two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course. Edmund/Caspian.
1. Ages and Ages, Returning at Intervals

Title: Along the Midnight Edge  
>Rating: 18<br>Genre: drama, romance  
>Pairings: EdmundCaspian  
>Wordcount: 80k<br>Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes  
>Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.<p>

Author's note: whew! This was a long, long ride (for me). Together with OTBE this story is over 100k, and given that I'm usually quite succinct, it is an achievement. :D

On to serious business: this story should stand well enough on its own, but it is a direct sequel to On a Transparent Belt of Ether. Certain events are referenced, though should be explained well-enough in context.

Important note on the universes: this is primarily based on the books. Primarily, I say, because book!Caspian just didn't fancy book!Edmund, like movie!Caspian did. That, and it might be worth noting that there is a number of things I very much liked about the movies, which bugged me in the books. So it is a bit of a mix and match canon.

Titles from the poetry of Walt Whitman.

Credits and thank yous: This story wouldn't be what it is if it wasn't for the input of seraphim_grace and miss_labelle. Betaed by kispexi and yami_tai. Thank you all!

[CHAPTER ONE - Ages and Ages, Returning at Intervals]

Was it night-time? Edmund wasn't sure. He was wide awake and though his head felt full and light, his mind was clear and sharp. In a way it was not unlike the state of precariously balancing on the edge of drunkenness, when one's veins are filled with champagne bubbles and the lips are sticky-sweet with it, but the alcohol has not yet brought sleepiness or stupor.

The land was so much brighter than he was used to. So much more detailed. Everything had a story here, not just the trees and buildings, but the stones and flowers, too. He relished the ability to see every blade of grass in the vast field, for each had something to set it apart and though it should be overwhelming, it all connected, somehow, into the bigger picture, and the picture was one he would never tire of seeing.

It was growing dark now - there had to be a sunset, but he found he couldn't remember, even when the sky was lined with colours, from horizon to horizon. Some of them reflected in the pools of water, some lent their hue to the grounds and stones and trees. Edmund traced the edge of the stone that marked the end of the sill he was sitting on, a stone that should be grey, but was orange instead, in the hopes of catching a stray ray of sunshine between his fingertips.

"Are you trying to fall?"

Edmund turned and found that Caspian was watching him through half-lidded eyes, and if everything about this world beyond was blinding in its glory, Caspian was even more so. He'd always been handsome, but now Edmund found him outshining every woman and every man he had ever found attractive.

"Aren't you trying to stop me?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"So you are saying it won't matter?" Edmund stood, a little unsteadily, for there had been wine and he had discovered that the drinks of heaven caused just as much light-headedness as those in the Shadowlands. Perhaps more. He moved to the very edge and peered down. Vertigo had never been a problem for him, so it was no effort to stand on the very edge with his arms spread, thoroughly drunk on the emotion and the land spread out before him, familiar and alien.

They were sitting on the high tower of Cair Paravel, of what the castle had been in the days of his glory and all that was good about it since. The highest tower, which Edmund remembered so well from his reign, here stood as tall as the highest mountain he had ever climbed and even so he could see the grass underneath, the daisy-like flowers with golden hearts and silk-soft white petals that had bloomed there ever since their reign. He wondered what it would be like to take the step and plummet into the depth, what did this strange place make of gravity and physics.

They were so high up, perched on the wall, they could almost see the next great mountain, in the distance. The sky shone with colours he had never before seen, he was sure of it. If he were a painter, perhaps, or into hallucinogenic substances, then perhaps the view would be more familiar to him, even though he felt he could call all the trees he saw with the names of the hamadryads that had once inhabited them.

He turned his back to the ravine and looked at Caspian, whose eyes never left him. "How long has it been?" he asked quietly, as he took in the hunger and attention with which Caspian regarded him. There was no bitterness or melancholy in his gaze, as it would be hard to reconcile those with the beauty of Aslan's country. Still, the yearning was plain.

"Over forty years, since you left. Then, I couldn't tell. It might have been a day, or a thousand years. I think I slept through most of it."

"I'm told it's been two hundred years since your death."

"I'm a heavy sleeper."

"You've spent all this time here and yet you did not think to enquire what would happen if I cast myself off this ledge?"

"How could I?" Caspian bent to the floor to procure more wine. "I could tell you what happens when I do it, though."

Edmund laughed and sat down opposite Caspian. There was so little space that when he straightened his legs in front of him, as much as he could, his knee brushed against Caspian's thigh, and even though they were clothed, the warmth seeped through the fabric of their trousers. For the first time in forever, it seemed, Edmund felt full.

"It was much less for me," he said, averting his eyes from Caspian's. He shouldn't feel grateful, he supposed, that his life was cut short so brutally, but how could he not, when the future laid out in front of him contained, at best, dozens of years of waking each morning to the feeling of hollowness.

Caspian leaned across their legs to flick at his hair. Edmund closed his eyes and felt the warm fingers ghost over his forehead, as though Caspian was trying to brush the thoughts out of his mind. Though rationally a lifetime of handling swords and ropes should have left his hands calloused, the skin was delicate and soft and so Edmund let him.

The feather-light touch upon his forehead was hypnotic and they were both falling in some kind of trance. Edmund stared at the colours that the not-sunset painted across Caspian's skin, wishing very much to reach out the touch the ridge of his brow and smooth the fearful longing which wasn't there and yet somehow was. He wished and he resisted, because he knew there would be time to do so, that they would have time to learn and study each other, and this moment was worthy of savouring as it was. This was a novelty for them both: for the first time since their conversation atop a very similar tower they were without fear that the new day would bring separation and solitude. The knowledge was heady - it had been exciting to find in Caspian a kindred spirit, when Edmund had so few real friends outside of his family, it had been exhilarating to feel the press of lips against his and know his feelings were returned, but how could any of that match up to what he was feeling now, when the bitter threat of parting was taken away?

Caspian's hand slipped off his face and Edmund caught it. He said nothing, for in truth he wasn't certain he could speak, even if he had the words. The stone was warm against his back. Caspian's hand, clutched in his, was as real as the beating of his own heart. He felt liberated, as weightless and free as if he had taken the leap off a highest tower, when nothing existed but the joy of flight.

They sat there from sunset to sunrise, without uttering a word, without the need for sleep, or food, or drink. They watched the worlds dance before them and they breathed. It was enough just to sit close to one another; Edmund was certain he would have gladly spent eternity there, but for the one treacherous thought that wormed its way into his mind and wouldn't leave.

He let himself hear it and laughed.

"I have just thought, how much ridicule would I direct at myself, back in England."

"Why?"

Edmund rubbed his thumb against the back of Caspian's hand, where he remembered there had been a scar, just a nick from a knife. There was nothing there now, no mark, just smooth, unblemished skin. "This. The romance of it. Such grandeur!" But it was a soft, not mocking, laugh that escaped him then.

"As I recall you were not above the romance when we were hiding in the crow's nest of the Dawn Treader."

"The folly of my teenage years," Edmund said. He moved so that he and Caspian were sitting side by side.

"What is it that you object to, exactly? Is it my presence, or is it the romance?"

"I see you are every bit the hot-headed fool you've always been."

"I cultivated my personality in the hopes of not disappointing you. If therefore I must be an ass, to have you smile at me, so shall it be." Caspian looked at Edmund solemnly, in a voice which would leave a man no doubt as to the gravity of his confession.

"An ass prone to hyperbole. Let it never be said my taste is lacking." It was odd how little Edmund's spine protested when he let himself slide down the wall until his head was level with Caspian's shoulder and his feet were propped on the stone opposite. His cheek brushed against the material of Caspian's shirt and with every move of the air he was drowning in the salty, oceanic wind and Caspian's scent. "It's so quiet," he said dreamily, for with the memory of the ocean came the expectation of waves crashing and the wind howling.

"It is always so. Whenever you desire quiet, the most you need to do is to walk away from your companions."

"I wonder if we shall be missed. How long have we been away?"

"I do not know," Caspian said, and Edmund didn't think to contest his claim, though the sky was turning a myriad shades of pink and blue, a sure sign that the day was ready to return. "The time passes freely here, or perhaps not at all, and no one seems to mind."

There was wistful note in his voice. Edmund saw that Caspian was gazing down at him. "I have missed you. There weren't many people that knew, by some miracle, but I've been often told that it was the sea's doing, that it would pass, as all infatuations must. The one time I dared to confess the truth of it, I was told it must eventually fade and become a fond memory."

"It never did," Edmund said for him. "I think I know." The memories of Caspian never faded, somehow. Though all of Narnia was but a pale shadow in his mind as he lived in England, every time he closed his eyes he would find Caspian's face gazing at him solemnly. It had been unbearable to even visit Hastings; the smell of the sea brought tears to his eyes. "It was mere months after my return when Eustace told me you died. I thought for sure that would at least alleviate the yearning."

"Even in death I thought it too much to bear, though in this place one cannot despair."

Edmund stared at the sky. "I wondered often, are we insane?"

"Why would you think that?"

"It seems like foolery."

"Kings often are fools, when they lose the kingdoms."

"Oh, that silences the last of my complaints."

"The miracle! I shall run forth and make the announcements throughout the land."

They fell silent. The day was dawning and still there was not a hint of tiredness. There was no need for sleep, Edmund concluded eventually. Their bodies wouldn't tire or require rest, no matter how far they ran or how long they travelled. There was no hunger, no pain and no cold; there was no boredom and no weariness. They could have spent the rest of forever atop the tower and never want for anything more.

Inevitably, however, they wandered down the tower. The memory of life was still strong enough in them both, or perhaps it was that the vision of what could have been that drove them to explore the castle. Inevitably, they found for themselves an unoccupied room, though how could it be unoccupied, Edmund thought, when this was the place where countless people had come here before him, and countless more had yet to arrive.

Edmund worried about the turns his mind took, sometimes. It was particularly worrisome that he found himself alone, in a bedroom, with Caspian, and yet he could find no subject as worthy of consideration as that of the availability of lodgings. To be fair, that only lasted until the doors closed and they each took half a step into a kiss that very nearly threatened to reduce the universe outside to an inconvenient background.

He remembered vividly the kisses they shared on the Dawn Treader, and they were fevered and desperate, as though they both expected Aslan to step out of thin air to tear them apart. They did not care if there was perhaps too much anger and fear in it, if Caspian's beard left red marks on Edmund's skin; whether they fumbled, whether the intention matched the outcome. Any contact at all, whether it was cheek, or mouth or hair, was enough, was good; there was no time to fuss, to worry. It was not so now.

Edmund was eventually forced to attribute the difference to heaven's influence, for the gist of it, the passion and the frantic need to be free of clothing and pressed against one another as tightly as the physicality of their bodies would allow, that remained unchanged. There was no desperation, however. Though his body ached for Caspian and his heart trembled at the thought, he was at the centre calm and patient, for his every sense was already appeased. They were together and there was no way to ever set them apart.

It was done, he thought unexpectedly, as a fierce kiss stole the breath from his lips and the strong hands wrapped around him. Something inexplicable had passed through his consciousness and he knew Caspian had known it too, for he paused and they stared at one another.

Finally, Caspian broke into a smile, first a wide grin that would have been devious, were it not for the softness of his gaze, but which quickly dissolved into a soft quirk of lips, delicate like a kiss, warm like the afternoon sun. Surely there would be jeers and jests, were they to venture outside, with such an expression - which Edmund assumed graced his features, as well - upon their faces.

Here was the romance again, Edmund thought, tangling his hands in Caspian's hair. The light, which bore on it a multitude of colours while still being white, caught in the strand and he couldn't help but stare.

"You've grown," Caspian said.

"I've died."

"I meant that you are older than you were on the ship."

"Not by much." Edmund barely managed to stifle the giggle Caspian drew from him, by brushing his finger's against Edmund's ribs. "I feel like I'm no longer confused about my age, at least."

"Did that often happen?"

"I had been twenty and five when I departed Narnia the first time, to become a ten year old boy again. Try and imagine the confusion."

"By your leave, I shall leave the exercise for later."

"Be my guest," Edmund said, before he drowned all thought, rational or otherwise, in Caspian.

It was quite the peculiar feeling, this bone-deep calm that followed exertion and yet had nothing to do with tiredness. He was tired, he supposed. He must have been. Yet if he were asked he would have risen and ran for hours, Edmund traced the contours of the ceiling with his gaze, as his fingers traced patterns into Caspian's scalp, and that in itself was a dance, measured by the breaths tickling his neck.

He found he could call upon tiredness to chase away the brilliantly white sunshine from his eyes - perhaps this was what Caspian meant when he said he had slept for the whole time since his death - sleep was not far away, should one wish for it, and it only needed to be called, though it was no longer needed. It was different, too. There were no dreams, for what purpose was there in dreaming when you were in the place where your fondest wishes had already come true?

And yet… Edmund shot up, breathing harshly, woken from the lull by something as elusive as mist on a spring morning. His heart was beating wildly, and his hands shook, but he felt no fright nor alarm, nor even a hint of wrongness that permeated the nightmares.

"Edmund?"

That at least explained the uncontrollable beating of his heart. Caspian was at his side, naked and warm. His fingers were rubbing circles into the base of Edmund's spine.

"Sorry. Were you asleep?"

"No. I was making sure you wouldn't disappear by morning."

"A useful vigil then."

"It wasn't without merits." Caspian smiled at him. The corner of his mouth curved just so and Edmund found himself tracing the outline of it, committing the shape to memory with touch as well as sight. How could it be, he thought, that his whole existence, his very being, could be so narrow as to fit within the curve of Caspian's smile? How was it possible to love one person so, how was it possible that he should love one person like this?

He wondered how long it could last.

Certainly, he missed Caspian, every hour of every day, though to be fair he only realised that when he saw him again, and the hollow in his heart was finally remedied. He relished the thought of them being together, he relished every moment, but still in the back of his mind there was the fear. No, it couldn't have been fear, as there was no fear away from the Shadowlands, but there was the dreadful feeling that such utter bliss couldn't possibly last forever.

"You seem worried," Caspian said, throwing an arm around Edmund's waist. He sounded surprised.

Edmund bent his head, so that his forehead rested against Caspian's hair. Those feelings were fleeting, none managed to hold onto his mind for long. It was only when he drifted on the edge of waking that he had them, intangible and formless. "Not really."

He wasn't. Not really. Because though he couldn't fully dispel the idea of fear, he knew, with the same certainty he knew he existed, that this was irreversible.

Caspian pulled him closer still and Edmund forgot all the misgivings he had to entertain. When they were this close he could forget his own name, because it was certainly of no use, when they were alone.

There was a brief tussle, but Edmund found himself victorious, lying on top of Caspian across the unholy mess of tangled sheets and inexplicable articles of clothing strewn through them. "I did think we were better at getting undressed in an orderly fashion."

"There was very little time to spare."

Edmund laughed, an incautious move to say the least, as Caspian rolled them over to the very edge of the bed and stopped there, grinning. Edmund grinned right back, even as he let his hands trail down Caspian's sides.

Then the door opened with a great deal of energy.

"Oh for crying out loud," Peter said, and the expression on his face, which was both scandalised and managing to verge on anger, caused both Edmund and Caspian to giggle like little girls. Unfortunately, the uncontrollable laughter sent them both sliding off the bed, into a tangled heap.

"Pete, could I persuade you to knock next time?" Edmund asked as extricated himself from the mess and sat up.

"I was given strict orders not to return without having found you."

"I still say you should have knocked." It should have been horribly awkward, having this conversation with Peter, when Caspian was grinning up at him and pressing kisses against his naked thigh. It wasn't. "Since when do you take orders, anyway?"

"Since it is Mother who wishes to see you."

Caspian deigned to show himself over the edge of the bed. "Aren't you a touch old to be led about by your mother?"

"I have nothing whatsoever to say to you," Peter said.

"That wounds me. Aren't we family now?"

"Aren't you a little old to be seducing my little brother, you fiend?"

Edmund swallowed first indignation and then laughter. Caspian pulled himself off the floor, still wrapped in the sheet and hopped over the bed to stand face to face with Peter. "A fiend? Is that the best you can do?"

"That's the best you can get."

"I rather think I ought to be wounded."

"You can do whatever you will, it is of no concern to me," Peter was saying, as Edmund eyed the window. Getting dressed was the work of a moment and the parapet just outside was wide enough to allow a leisurely walk, and if this was Cair Paravel, then right around the corner there would be a walkway, a full storey higher than the ledge, but the stones were easy to climb. He had escaped a great many lectures that way, back during the Golden Age of Narnia.

Right by the door Caspian and Peter were staring each other down and coming up with new and inventive curses. Rolling his eyes, Edmund scaled the window. It was just as he remembered - the parapet was smooth from the rain and wind, but it was wide enough to allow for a comfortable walk.

The walkway, built of grey, rough blocks, would be inaccessible to most, as there was at least twelve feet worth of a vertical climb between its edge and the parapet. Edmund, however, as a child had found that the gaps between the stones allowed for a good grip and resting place for the feet. Over time, he'd build up enough strength in his hands to pull himself up by his fingertips, if necessary, and that was in a world that obeyed the laws of physics. Now it was merely a question of putting his mind to it. The stones gave support, and within seconds he was throwing his legs over the ledge the protected the passers-by from falling off.

In the back of his mind he heard a crude curse, one most unsuitable for use by a king, and he snickered to himself. Caspian had certainly worked on his vocabulary.

From the walkway he made his way to the gates of the castle, only to find Lucy and his parents there, absorbed in a conversation which dwindled as soon as they saw him.

"Edmund!" Mother cried, rushing forth to embrace him. "Where have you been? It's been such a long time and you were nowhere to be found."

"I apologise. There were friends I needed to see, friends I haven't seen in a long time."

Behind Mother's back Lucy was smiling uncontrollably, and her face was as bright as the sun.

"Peter went to look for you, have you seen him?" Father asked.

"Yes, he did find me. He's…" in the back of his mind, when he devoted some attention to it, he felt Caspian laugh and repeat words Edmund recalled as the staple of the dwarven fish merchants of Beruna, a thoroughly strange kind of dwarves. "He should be back soon. He got into a discussion." About the prowess of ancestors, if Caspian's reply was any indication. Edmund very nearly laughed. "Have you seen Beruna yet?" he said instead. "I died there once, in a battle."

"Edmund!" Lucy cried, thoroughly scandalised. "You did not die!"

"It was the closest to death in battle I have ever come. I should be allowed to embellish the truth a little, sister."

"Lucy was telling us you have been a king of the realm," Father said, and thankfully his passion for war history was so strong he would forego visiting a lived-in castle when he could visit the site of an ancient battle instead.

"Indeed I was. Insofar as one could be king whenever Peter was also enthroned," he told his parents, while to Lucy he whispered "If you would, distract Caspian for some time."

"Why?"

"Because his fight with Peter must end sometime, as I suspect there is a limited number of insults he could have learned in the time he lived."

"I wouldn't wager my money on that, and anyway, that's not what I was asking," Lucy said under her breath, but out loud she proclaimed she would wait for Peter and join them shortly. Edmund was glad to see her go, though he couldn't fully explain why. Surely nothing bad would come out of introducing Caspian to his parents? How could it?

"This battle," Father said meanwhile, as they started to walk. "Why was it fought?"

Edmund told the tale, glossing over the details, perhaps, because there was no need to dwell on the past.

"But you were so young then," Mother said. "How could you have been in a battle?"

"I've been in many battles," Edmund said. "The time here is so fluent. You wondered why we were so changed when we returned home from the Digory's house."

"It was hard not to."

Though the distance between Cair Paravel and Beruna was substantial, they crossed the land in a few minutes or an hour, and found themselves before a vast field that brimmed with the excitement of a great battle, that thrummed with the buzz of a city. A talking fox was curled up on a sun-warmed rock. His ears flicked from time to time and Edmund was reminded of another fox and a dinner party. The times and places merged, and Edmund found himself staring through the history of Narnia. He was aware of answering questions, but these were inconsequential, tedious details, like numbers and command and tactics. He could answer them in his sleep.

"Peter," Father said meanwhile, turning away. "Edmund tells me you have won a battle here."

"Two battles," Caspian said. "Good morning."

"This is new," Father said, extending his hand. Introductions were made, but Edmund just stared at Beruna, at what it had been and always would be.

"Are you alright?" Caspian asked, when Father started quizzing Peter on the details of the other battle. His voice was low and Edmund shivered at the sound.

"Yes. Just… remembering."

Caspian arched a brow.

"Foxes bring bad memories," Edmund said. "The witch turned a fox into stone when I was with her and by the time I had remembered, and tried to find him so that he could be restored, someone had broken the stone into pieces." It was strange, how little emotion the tale carried now. It was just a dry fact, history that was.

Caspian looked across the field, to where the fox was still dozing upon the stone. "You are remarkable, did you know that?" he said, brushing his lips against Edmund's temple. "That you would search for that which makes you sad in Aslan's country."

"I wasn't exactly searching," Edmund said, tilting his head to reciprocate the kiss. "It just happened."

Too late he realised that his parents were still there, and for some reason he hadn't wanted this to happen. It was hard to remember why. Mother was staring at them with some surprise on her face, but that quickly dissolved into confusion and then a soft smile. There was a kind of peace in her face, a peace that meant that there would be no investigation, not even an inquiry, for which Edmund was grateful.

He caught Peter's eye and shrugged, in response to an unspecified question. Caspian's hand was warm against his side, the air was clear and fresh and before his eyes the land brimmed with light and happiness.


	2. This Day, O Soul

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER TWO - This Day, O Soul]

Edmund didn't think he could have found any words to describe heaven when he was living, thought for sure that there were none. What was more, he was certain it was only the living who needed words, and yet, now that he had achieved a place in Aslan's country, he felt he wanted to name all the sensations that he was experiencing.

This was queer, partly because the heaven was not at all different from the adventures in Narnia, only this time bereft of fear or worry. There were mornings of sunshine every day, of glorious, golden sunshine that fell through the windows to bathe the chamber in its rays, but there were mornings of rain, too, warm summer rain that trickled down his face and made him glad to be alive. He wasn't sure how many had there been - he counted, but oftentimes he would end up with twelve, and sometimes it would be sixteen, then he would consider the sunsets, glorious and colourful and would get a figure that implied he was completely wrong in his accounts, by a margin of twenty in either direction. No one would confirm or deny his observations. Peter didn't notice. Lucy didn't care.

Then there was Caspian. His presence made it very hard to consider sunsets and sunrises, even as they tried to reconcile the figures they arrived at separately. His presence made it difficult to breathe, for fear of dissolving the moment, rendering the issue of time irrelevant.

Naturally, Edmund was happy. It was hard not to be happy, when he had everything he had ever wanted, right there, close enough to touch and with the promise of eternity binding it to him.

It didn't mean there weren't days (months? minutes? The sensation of time passing in Narnia had always been fluid, time in this land must have been governed by even more bizarre rules) when he couldn't stand to see the smug expression on Caspian's face and honestly considered hopping on a steed and riding until the dawn found him in a different place altogether. Of course, the fantasy would include Caspian riding along with him, each and every time and it never failed to bring a smile to Edmund's face.

He breathed in the smell of the ocean, tasted the salt on his tongue. He would be able to see the water, but for the surrounding trees. He stretched and put his hands underneath his head, to watch the leaves overhead shimmer in the golden light.

"Are you hiding from me?" Caspian asked, over the crashing of the waves upon the shore.

Edmund didn't even bother to open his eyes. "I am."

"Why?"

"Because you can be annoying."

"That is not true."

"It is only too true."

Caspian stretched out on the exquisite lawn at Edmund's side. "I don't think I'm so annoying as to justify you running and hiding from me. I am starting to wonder if perhaps you haven't missed me enough."

Edmund grinned, for the petulant tone of Caspian's never failed to amuse him. "See, this is my reasoning precisely. I have siblings here, I have my parents, I have friends that you have never even heard of. Is it any wonder that I would wish to spend time with them?"

"I could swear none of them absorbs your mind presently."

"I am permitted to have time for myself, aren't I?"

Caspian considered. "Perhaps. What would you use it for?"

"I don't know yet. I was on the verge of discovery, when you saw it fit to interrupt me. Aren't you ashamed?"

"Of cornering you, after an hour of searching, alone, in a secluded grove. Oh, the shame is crushing." Caspian twisted and rolled, stopping when he was straddling Edmund's hips. The light haloed his head, sliding through his hair like the fingers of a lover. Edmund reached out to catch the strand that fell to obscure his eye and tucked it behind Caspian's ear.

"I wonder, were you always this prone to sarcasm?" he asked.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

"Have you no ears?"

"Often I leave them wherever I last used them. I don't think they are all that necessary."

"Arrogant princeling."

"Princeling? Why, I ought to have you put in the stocks for this."

"I'm certain it would end well, for all involved," Edmund murmured. It was hard to think when Caspian was so close, or rather it was hard to think about things outside of Caspian.

"I would feel vindicated," the king said, and his mouth was brushing Edmund's as he spoke.

"You would have to catch me first."

"I caught you."

"That's what you think."

Caspian was an only child, so hadn't had the advantage of spending his early years tussling with siblings on floors and carpets and lawns. It was almost too easy, bucking suddenly and using the momentum to dislodge him, and spring to his feet.

"Is that a challenge?" Caspian asked, lifting himself up on his elbow.

"Well, if you're happy to admit you're beaten, I should be happy to accept your forfeit." However impressive it might have sounded, Edmund was already running before the last words could leave his mouth and so the kingly tone he affected was drowned in laughter.

Caspian didn't let him enjoy the advantage for long. Before Edmund was even out of the grove he heard the leaves rustling and he knew Caspian was following. He took a sudden turn, jumped over a low wall, reached the orchard, which filled the courtyard of the castle and came to a stop behind a pillar, where his sister was seated.

"Hello Lucy," he said, startling her out of whatever daydream she had conjured. She leapt to her feet and laughed.

"Ed! So good to see you. How's Caspian doing?"

"Ask him yourself," Edmund said, as he heard footsteps coming through the apple trees. He didn't wait to confirm who it was, but was already running, past the gates and into the countryside.

"Edmund, really!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Edmund saw that Caspian had grasped Lucy around the waist and whirled her in a circle until she squealed in delight. "My lady. Always a pleasure," he said and left her laughing heartily in his wake. In the distance Edmund could hear her ask "Are they crazy?" of Peter, who appeared out of nowhere to frown at Caspian. He did that a lot.

"Yes, they are," Peter said, glaring at Caspian. "Honestly, have you no dignity?"

"I might. Why? Did you want to borrow some?"

"You insufferable little…!"

"I am at the very least as tall as you," Caspian said, the chase temporarily forgotten. Edmund paused, then returned to the group, to hide behind Lucy. Pitting Caspian against Peter never got old. He wondered why it was so. Peter was so amicable, and yet the mere sight of Caspian, Caspian and Edmund, to be precise, as they were only rarely apart, was enough to send him into a frenzy. Oftentimes Edmund would find himself worried that the matter was quite serious indeed, when it got Peter so frustrated even the heavenly ambience couldn't mellow him out.

"What is going on?" Eustace asked, appearing as though by magic at Edmund's elbow.

"Peter and Caspian are conversing."

"Really? It rather looks like a fight to me."

"Why? There are no swords involved."

"Why does this always happen?" Lucy asked, tilting her head, presumably to make sense of the complicated dance Peter and Caspian were performing. "No matter how it starts, it inevitably ends with Caspian picking a fight with Peter. I don't remember Caspian being this eager to argue."

"It's not fighting," Edmund told her as he shook his head. "That's spirited discussion." Of course, explaining that to a girl was next to impossible.

"I've seen spirited discussions. I tend to get animated when I talk. I don't recall ever resorting to uppercuts."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Girls."

"Boys. You're all just a bunch of savages, aren't you?"

Edmund casually lifted a hand to smack the back of Lucy's head, but as usual she was quick to duck and kick him in the shin. "That's not sporting!" she said.

"And insulting my gender is?"

"I did no such thing!"

"Eustace was right here and heard it!"

"I was here, yeah."

"See?"

"He didn't actually say I did it," Lucy said with a bright grin. "He just said he was here."

Eustace smiled at that. "Well, it is true."

"Could you be any less of a help?"

"I imagine so, yes. Who's going to win this one, d'you think?" Eustace nodded at Peter and Caspian, who had managed to find a couple of sticks to double as quarter-staffs and were now circling one another.

"Peter," Edmund said without looking.

"Hey!" Caspian turned in his direction, to protest, which was a fatal mistake, as Peter used that moment of distraction to hook the staff around his legs and fell him. "That's not fair!"

"You have fallen for that thrice already!"

"You're supposed to be on my side!" Caspian pouted and Edmund very narrowly avoided bursting out laughing.

"Can't recall ever saying that." Caspian had a face naturally suited to feigning the expression of a wounded fawn, so Edmund continued in a softer voice, "I am, however, willing to nurse you back to health."

"I suppose I must learn to live with that."

"You'd better."

Peter laughed, then, and stretched. "I should entertain a rematch when it's convenient for you. Perhaps sometime next century, when you've had a bit of practice?"

"Perhaps when you've stopped resorting to underhanded tricks…"

"Why would I do that?" Peter asked. Edmund bit his lip. It seemed half the time he was forced to find new ways of stopping himself from laughing. It wasn't easy. Peter had a natural tendency - he supposed it was due to being the eldest in the family, cousins included - to assume he was the older brother in any given group of his peers, regardless of actual age and status, and Caspian, having been spared from the horror of having an older sibling or indeed anyone who'd be familiar and daring enough to tease him, couldn't get used to the idea.

This of course begged the question of whether Peter was older than Caspian, who had, after all, died of old age, and how did that factor into the grand scheme of things. Edmund would normally say this was the sort of thing that kept him up at night, except of course the only thing that kept him up at the times that most resembled night here was Caspian.

"What has you so confused?" Caspian asked, coming to seat by his side. There was something very cat like in his movements, almost like he had no bones at all, as he lowered himself to the ground. Edmund wanted to put his hands on the nape of Caspian's neck and see if he'd purr when scratched.

"I was wondering how old we are," he said, because heaven or not, doing that in front of Peter would result in bloodshed.

"How is that a concern?" Peter took a seat on his other side and Edmund felt it was high time to leave, for surely this would result in a shouting match he had no desire to be in the middle of.

"I have wondered that as well, in all honesty." Caspian propped his head on a hand and stared into the distance. "I know how old I was upon my death, but here I feel like I'm no more than twenty."

"You don't act older than ten," Peter muttered and Edmund sighed.

Just as Peter and Caspian were beginning another dispute over his head, Edmund's gaze was drawn to a strange flickering on the grass, casting foreign shadows onto the ground. The edges of the blades sharpened, and the texture seemed to gain another dimension, when it was already so full of substance Edmund could spend a lifetime detailing its meanings. It was strange, in that the sun shone from high above, as though it were noon, and yet these shadows behaved as though a new light was shimmering behind his back.

"Hello," Lilliandil said, and even her voice shimmered on the wind, like the light she cast upon the ground.

Edmund turned. "Good morning. Or afternoon."

Rilian stood behind her. Edmund noted he was staring at Caspian, in particular at his hand, which was resting atop Edmund's, with something akin to wonder in his eyes. Edmund found himself flushing and so he stood up, seeking to put some distance between them.

There was a long moment of silence. "I do believe we haven't been introduced," Peter said warmly as he stood up and took Lilliandil's hand.

"I know who you are, High King of Narnia," she said with a smile.

"I'm Peter. I don't think such titles are quite relevant anymore."

"I hail from the world of Narnia," she said. "Though she may have died, the kingship does not die with her."

"Be that as it may, I do believe you have been her queen as well, making us equals, so I insist on you using my given name."

Lilliandil laughed and then there were more introductions, namely that of Rilian, with whom Edmund had not the chance to speak yet, which he suspected was a grievous oversight on his part. On the other hand, how does one conduct oneself in the presence of one's lover, his wife and son? Edmund suspected there were no books to coach him on that matter.

"You look well," Lilliandil told him some time later, once the company had broken into smaller groups. Caspian and Rilian were engaged in an animated conversation with Eustace, which, as far as Edmund could tell, mostly involved the world beneath Narnia and the chasm lower still. Peter and Lucy listened to it with avid interest, though they had heard the story before. Eustace did his best, immediately after his return, and he had many talents, but storytelling was not his strong suit - he tended towards dry and concise reports, whereas Rilian seemed to have a flair for vivid description.

"Thank you. How have you been?"

"I find this place very beautiful. My time here has been a joy."

Over among the smaller trees Caspian let out a boisterous laugh and flicked a fallen leaf onto Eustace's head. Edmund looked their way and he saw Caspian's gaze sweeping over the two of them, lingering on Edmund, then he looked back to Eustace.

Edmund smiled.

"Do you know, this is the first time I have seen Caspian be genuinely happy?" Lilliandil said lightly. She, too, was gazing at Caspian, and the look they shared couldn't have escaped her attention.

"Surely not!"

"But it is true. He had been content in his role, but I think - nay, I know - the memory of you had always lingered in his mind and at times he seemed as distant as my brethren is upon the sky. I think it was only when Rilian was born that he came close to being at peace."

Edmund didn't quite know what to say. If this were any other place he would have felt guilt and perhaps horror, too, because he had been content back in England, buried in his studies and his secrets, but there was no one to force onto him a family, or worse still, force him onto a family which surely deserved better. He should apologise, he thought, but the nature of the regret was so alien to this country, that the moment the thought arose in his mind it was gone anew, leaving behind only compassion and acceptance.

He was spared the trouble of answering when both Caspian and Rilian, closely followed by Eustace, Peter and Lucy, came to sit by their side. Their conversation continued, and so Edmund and Lilliandil fell silent, listening to the animated account of the great cavern from which the gnomes hailed, where there were living jewels and rivers of fire.

"Did you see any of them at the door, Eustace?" Edmund asked, but was met with a blank stare.

"Any of who?"

"The gnomes, whatever you call them. Or the salamanders."

"I cannot recall," he said, and Edmund could swear he saw the thought disappear from his mind. He frowned and he would have said something, but then Eustace spoke of Puddleglum and his sense of the humour of the Marsh-wiggles was impeccable, even if he would punctuate most of the quotes with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"Edmund always did have an affinity with the Wiggles," Peter said. "There was the chap, what was his name? He lived in a tiny tent on the very edge of the sea, lion's mane, he would be soaking every time the tide rolled in, and he refused to move even an inch."

"Gloomfog."

"Most fitting. He was our teacher, for a while. I know I couldn't stand his lessons, he was so depressing!"

"He was accurate."

"Come on, he could speak of nothing but the marches and the mud and when he chanced upon something interesting, he had to ruin it!"

"He taught us war history, Pete. War is mud, lice and occasionally blood." Peter raised a brow at that, and Edmund immediately shook his head. "Never mind. He did have a splendid sense of humour, though I admit it was not always fit for the throne room."

"Depends on the throne room. I found Puddleglum almost too optimistic. At least that is what I most remembered. He stayed with me awhile, after I became king," Rilian said and his handsome face was clouded with the memory. Edmund recalled that he must have been crowned days after his father's death, in the wake of a ten-year-long imprisonment. In the face of such tragedies the nature of a Marsh-wiggle must have been a ray of sunshine, because when most people dismissed the Wiggles' attitude as pessimistic, Edmund had thought it merely on the grim side of realism, a view not eagerly shared among the Narnians.

But Eustace laughed at Rilian's words, and soon the jokes and stories were being traded like they would be among old friends, who knew the same places at different times.

It was a wonder, how much history they could piece together between them; Caspian was proving himself quite the expert on the Golden Age of Narnia and its repercussions on the centuries that followed, while Lilliandil knew a surprising amount about the movement of armies and the travels of the people of the world, though of the reasons for them she could name very few.

Overhead, the sun shone and the sky flickered, a standing testimony to the fluent passage of time. Edmund dared to look up for a moment and became transfixed with the wonders of what played before his eyes. He could stare the sun in the face and see through its might, though what was it that he saw there, he couldn't tell. Perhaps one day he would have to chance a trip, for surely it was possible in heaven?

"Ed," he heard Caspian say.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" Unlike in life, there were no dark spots before his eyes, just Caspian's face, no less radiant than the sun.

"Daydreaming, are we?" he said. His mouth was stretched in a most inviting grin and Edmund tongue flicked briefly to wet his lips.

"In a manner of speaking."

He should have noted the lull in the conversation, but it had only occurred to him after he kissed Caspian that they had an audience. Peter's face was a sight to treasure. Lucy and Lilliandil looked amused to the point of tears, or so he assumed, given that Lucy was laughing so hard she was nearly glowing with mirth and Lilliandil shone just as brightly. Rilian's expression mirrored Eustace's, with perhaps a touch more amusement.

Edmund found himself going red, a fact not aided by Caspian's laughter.

The Cair Paravel of Aslan's country was not everything that Edmund remembered. There were rooms and passages that he had never seen in his life, owing partially to the castle having been ravaged by time and then rebuilt by Caspian, following his escapade to the end of the world, but there were also many murals and statues whose theme and style suggested that parts of the building belonged to the times before Edmund's reign.

The room he and Caspian had claimed as their own, for instance. Though Edmund was certain that this was the very same room that had been his chamber at one point (the shape of the window, the walkway outside, the secret door, just to the side of the fireplace, all were positioned exactly as he saw them in his mind's eye), there were also features that must have been both earlier and later than he.

The best thing was, that there was a substantial library in the castle, too, and Edmund found that with enough hours devoted to the search he could find a book that contained in it the complete history of Cair Paravel, down to its least staircase. Most peculiar, he had thought at the discovery, but strangely fitting. This was heaven, wasn't it, so why should it surprise him that the information on any given subject was readily available?

He had taken the book and made himself comfortable in his sunlit bedroom, confident that for a while at least Caspian would be absorbed by challenging Peter to some contest and being challenged in turn. It was easier to tune out the whisper of his voice when he concentrated on something. They were never wholly unaware of each other, but if their mutual focus was elsewhere the voices were like whispers on the wind, comforting in their presence, but just as invisible as air.

The stories, for they were stories, not history, and as well-written as the best book he had ever had the pleasure of reading, drew him in completely. He had just begun the chapter on the great hall (first erected to house the coronation of the Queen Soon, whose covenant with Calormen had ensured a peace that held for centuries), when there was a knock on the door.

"Come on in," he called.

The door opened with some reluctance to reveal Rilian.

"Good morning."

"Good morning to you too, Edmund." Rilian looked around the room carefully. "May I intrude?"

"Sure. Can I help you with anything?"

"I wish you could." His face was solemn as though there was indeed something to be troubled with, so Edmund cast aside his book and looked at the man expectantly. If he were able to feel dread, he surely would have, because solemnity, just as fear and anger, he hadn't yet encountered.

"I had wondered that you should choose this room," Rilian said and at least for a moment his face was brightened with a smile.

"It was mine once. At least I think so - the castle has changed since I knew it and it changes even now."

"It was once mine as well."

Edmund opened his mouth. "That has to be a joke."

"Not at all. When I was a child this was my bedroom. Or it was not, I'm quite confused, in all honesty."

"I think I know what you mean. This is such a strange land. Everything seems like it should be, but coupled with the memories, nothing is as it was."

"True." Rilian came to sit on the side of the bed, staring at the mural over the mantelpiece. It depicted the hunting of the White Stag, and for the life of him Edmund couldn't remember if it had been there all along, or if it only appeared when Rilian called it forth.

He voiced the thought and Rilian laughed. "It is queer that you should remark upon it. Others have accepted it without question and yet it seems strange to you."

Edmund shook his head and looked at the scene. He recognised himself in one of the four figures, partially obscured by the trees. He seemed to be looking back, and if not for the young birch Edmund would have been able to look into his eyes, when his three siblings were already facing the way forth, into the painting.

"This is not a painting I would have chosen for a child's room," he found himself saying. "Though it's beautiful."

"My father commissioned it. I found it full of hope, especially in my later years."

"It's very well done."

Silence fell between them and in it were the first seeds of unease. "Rilian," Edmund said, "You have come here with a specific purpose, have you not?"

"Indeed I have."

Though Rilian seemed to have made no move from where he sat, suddenly Edmund found him so close, he could feel the heat of his body. Except he couldn't.

"Are you ill?" he asked, as he touched Rilian's forehead. "You are cold."

"No, I am well." Yet his blue eyes burned brightly as the stars as he regarded him, and the sight of such inhuman eyes in a face so like Caspian's brought a strange foreboding to Edmund's heart. Rilian was the son of a star, he recalled dimly, so it should be no wonder that his features reflected it.

"Edmund," he said and it seemed to Edmund the sun had paled when Rilian's face was close to his. He, too, possessed some of the glow that set Lilliandil apart from the humans around her, but his was gentler, imperceptible to anyone not looking for it. "Did you know that for the longest time in my childhood I was expecting to meet you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"My father spoke of you so often. I hardly think I heard other stories but those of your kingship when I was little."

"Caspian is prone to exaggeration."

"You need not worry about that. As I grew, I discovered much of what he was telling me was in the history books."

"Then he is a sorry storyteller, to boot. Were there no fairy-tales among the Telmarines to soothe children?"

"Few. Most of them, I think, feared to beget wonder in their offspring, so they settled for begetting fear."

"I never figured Caspian for being interested in history, to be honest. If anything I thought he would make up excuses to avoid history lessons and go hunting instead."

"Surely you did not assume it was history he was interested in," Rilian said. There was a knowing smile on his lips and Edmund looked away to hide the flush that blossomed across his face and he unexpectedly found himself pushed onto the bed and held there. He laughed, though the laughter dwindled when he found his limbs wouldn't move.

"Rilian," he said, straining to shift on the sheets. "What," he tried again, but the words caught in his throat as Rilian straddled him and he still couldn't move, couldn't even draw breath to speak.

The day was warm as any in the summer, there was no reason for Rilian's hands to be this cold, yet, as he undid the lacings of Edmund's shirt, the temperature seemed to drop. Edmund felt it keenly with each inch of the exposed skin. Cold fingers skimmed the skin over his sternum, drawing a shudder, made painful by his inability to move.

"I am sorry," Rilian said. "I truly am. I bear you no ill-will."

There was a knife in his hand. It did not belong there, Edmund thought; it was not of this world, it was wrong, so profoundly wrong. He knew that knife. Its shape had been burned into his memory, where it would forever be real, but how could the physical object have made its way here, into Rilian's hands, how could it once more be poised over him, when it should have been long gone, destroyed and buried in the ice of the dead world? He found that he was afraid, a sensation he had already begun to forget, as in Aslan's country there was no fear.

The sunlight crawled down the blade, thick like blood. Though Rilian's hand shook, the light pooled in the etchings on its surface, spilling over onto the flats, and then disappearing over the side, as though the edges cut through the world and opened into the abyss outside. Edmund imagined it brushed against him as the tip touched the skin over his heart. The knife must have been as sharp as it looked, because it took no pressure at all to break his skin.

It was strange, how he could feel fear, but not pain, even as the ice-cold knife dug deep into his flesh and caught on the bone, even as bright red blood welled in the wound and overflowed, soaking into Edmund's shirt. The smell of it was everywhere, it seemed, though logically it was but a scratch, he should barely feel it, but the smell invaded his nose, the taste of iron filled his mouth and it was quite fortunate he couldn't breathe, as he would have drowned if he tried.

Rilian wouldn't look into his eyes as the tip of the knife wedged under a rib and snapped bones in half, and Edmund saw - or perhaps imagined, as the angle should have made it impossible to see - his own beating heart. It was such a queer sight to behold, when everything he knew about anatomy told him he should be in tremendous amounts of pain, that he should be screaming in agony, or even slipping into unconsciousness, rather than observing the fleshy-red muscle as it contracted and expanded.

Then, perhaps too late, he realised that there was pain, and the fear gave way to terror, and worse, as he tried to throw his head back and scream and yet no sound was uttered and his body would not obey him.

Helpless to do anything but observe, Edmund saw that Rilian's hands trembled as he set the knife aside and reached into his chest cavity. For Edmund the sensation was most unsettling, as though there was some liquid colder than the coldest winter slipping into his veins, pushing out all the warmth and life. Rilian looked up briefly then, and for a moment Edmund saw fear, and worse, in his eyes, akin to what he himself was feeling. He looked away just as quickly, hiding perhaps the lack of certainty and the fear.

He bent his head. Edmund felt like his breath caught in his throat, when it was already strained. Ice spread through him, blinding, painful, leaving bloody scratch-marks underneath his skin where it froze the flesh solid. He would have scooted away, crawled away and run, were it not for the fact that his body betrayed him, and so he lay still as death, when Rilian's mouth touched his heart. Like a child's, eager for a taste of a new thing, his tongue flickered, drawing from Edmund a sensation such as he had never imagined possible, not in his wildest nightmares.

He hadn't been a terribly curious child, so he had not experienced the touch of frozen iron on his tongue, but if he had, he might have found the sensation similar, in nature if not in scope. For a moment there was nothing and then the cold started burning, hotter than a flame, spearing the flesh with such acuity that even the spell that had him bound had to relent and Edmund screamed, for he was certain that something inside him had broken and was ripping him apart.

Rilian straightened at that, with a look of shock upon his face. There was blood smeared on his lips, Edmund noted in a daze, before his vision began to blur, and Rilian stared at him with equal measure of shock and bewilderment.

His skin really was glowing, Edmund thought.

Then there were footsteps in the corridor and someone rattled the handle of the door.

"Edmund?" It was Lucy's voice. Edmund didn't know whether he should be relieved or terrified for her, but thankfully the interruption phased Rilian as well, for he leapt off the bed, grabbing the knife, just as the door opened. "Rilian, hello, such a pleasure to see you," Lucy started saying, and something like a flame passed before her, which Edmund realised was her hand, but Rilian pushed past her and ran.

It was only then that Lucy looked around the room, leaving sparks where her eyes lingered. Edmund wondered briefly how he must have looked to her, splayed across the bed with his chest cut open and bleeding. He rather felt like the ringing in his ears would never die, even though her squeal ended almost as soon as it started, and she was at his side in an instant.

"Edmund!"

He was still unable to move and presently the pain was starting to creep in. Lucy looked wildly about, patting the sides of her dress, but of course this was heaven and her magical cordial was of no use in a place where there was no death, no fear and no injury that a wish couldn't heal.

What a joke, Edmund thought wryly.

Thankfully, Lucy was not quite so shaken as to forget herself entirely. Within minutes she had pulled the cover off the bed and torn it into stripes. Edmund watched with interest as the fiery shadow, whose features he could barely make out, but whom he knew to be his sister, propped his unresponsive body against her side, holding the gaping would closed, and wrapped it as tight as she dared.

The blood ceased to flow soon enough and Edmund found that when the first layer of wrappings held him closed he could move again, enough to least to moan and grit his teeth. Lucy's touch burned, not quite so fatally as Rilian's had, but with every casual brush of her fingers Edmund felt a wave of fire blossom across his insides. "Oh, Edmund! I'm so sorry! Am I hurting you?"

"Wrap it tighter," he said, or at least tried to. His mouth was still numb, but Lucy seemed to understand.

"Wait here, I'll get Caspian," she said, springing to her feet. Then, "No, I daren't leave you alone."

"Don't go, he'll be here soon enough," Edmund started saying, and true to form, not five minutes had gone by when Caspian rushed through the door, closely followed by Peter and Eustace. Edmund didn't get the chance to think before Caspian was at his side, luminous with fury and terror, pulling him into a bruising embrace.

Edmund turned into it; through the haze of burning and unrest Caspian was the only thing that seemed stable to him when the world was swimming before his eyes. Strange that though he could barely make out Lucy's face, Caspian's was as vivid as it always was, even though Edmund's mind insisted on surrounding him with a fiery aura, but his skin was warm and the touch, though steeped in flames, soothed the burning and, when Edmund turned his head into Caspian's neck, he could no longer smell blood. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed, letting his mind settle and refocus.

Piece by piece, it all started to return to its proper shape. He let Caspian's scent fill him, anchor him to a world of people and not fiery shapes. Edmund smelled grass that still stuck to Caspian's shirt, smelled leather and daisies and sunlit skin, soap and salt. He let it wash over him, and when he opened his eyes he could see properly again.

"What happened?" Peter asked the room at large. Edmund saw his eyes flicker to the soaked linen binding his chest and the blood on Lucy's hands and kirtle.

"I don't know! I came by because Edmund was supposed to practice archery with me this morning, and I found him…" Lucy hesitated. Her voice started shaking as the image undoubtedly assaulted her eyes. "I don't know! I saw Edmund, and he was so pale and bleeding, and he was, he was cut open!" She bit her lip and Edmund felt rather sorry for her, because reporting to Peter when he brimmed with fury was never a pleasant experience. "Edmund was cut open, like- like someone tried to eviscerate him."

"Who, Lu?" Peter asked in a voice so tight that the merest hint, a shadow of a name, would send his crushing fury upon the perpetrator, whether he was certain of their guilt or not. Thankfully, Lucy knew this as well as Edmund did.

"It was so awful!" Lucy broke into tears and Peter's anger had to relent for a minute or two, because she hid her face in his shoulder and cried.

"Edmund? How are you?" Eustace asked cautiously. He was so pale Edmund could count the freckles on his face.

"Not bad, considering." This was true. Though he couldn't see it, he could tell by the oddest sensation in his chest that his ribs were mending, and the flesh was sewing itself closed. More importantly, he was able to move again, or he would have been, were it not for Caspian's death grip.

"Ed!"

"I shall live, I think that is an important consideration, don't you?"

"What happened? Who did this?"

"I wish I could tell you. I do." Except, of course, how could he discuss that which made no sense to him. He saw that it had been Rilian, because it had been Rilian, only how could it have been, when this was supposed to be heaven, free of evil and hatred?

Then again, it wasn't hatred burning in Rilian's eyes, but fear. The mystery remained unsolved, as fear was as equally unattainable as anger until now, but it served to shake Edmund's certainty about great many things.

"Edmund," Caspian hissed directly into his ear. "Who was it?"

"I'm-"

"iDon't lie to me!/i"

An icy feeling settled in Edmund's heart, a fear, a loss - something had changed. "I'm not lying," he said, pushing against Caspian, so he could look into his eyes. "Why would I lie?"

"You aren't telling the whole truth," Caspian said.

"That doesn't mean I'm lying!"

"You know who did this to you."

"No," Edmund said, because it might have been Rilian who held the knife, but it couldn't have been Rilian who wished for his destruction.

Caspian was staring into him and - what a wonder - though his touch didn't hurt him like Lucy's had, the intensity of his gaze pierced him to the core.

"It was Rilian," Lucy said quickly.

The room fell quiet and all but Edmund turned to look at her. "I walked in and he just ran out, didn't even pause. Then I saw Edmund. There was no one else in here."

Caspian sat frozen, though his grip on Edmund never wavered. "Rilian did this to you?" he whispered. "Why?"

"Not everyone has the courtesy to explain their motives before doing the deed," Edmund said and regretted his words immediately. Caspian's head rested against his and Edmund saw the guilt in the line of his body, as though it was his fault.

"Forgive me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to Caspian's cheek.

"He must be found." Peter turned to Eustace, every inch of him recalling the high king he once had been. "Go and fetch any of the talking birds, they are sure to be swift. Tell them to alarm everyone. Tell them that Rilian must be found and killed, as soon as he is seen."

"No!" It was Edmund they all now looked at. "No one shall move from this room, not until I say so!"

"Whatever devilry he is up to, he will pay dearly for it," Caspian said, with his face still hidden against Edmund's shoulder. "With his life, even."

"You choose now of all times to agree with my brother? I am telling you, no."

"I do not have to listen to you," Peter said narrowing his eyes.

"Quite the contrary." Edmund pushed Caspian away and stood up. "It was me he trespassed against, so it is upon me to exact justice."

"To what law do you attribute this rule? It is my duty as-"

"You are not a king anymore! Your kingship ended with Narnia!"

"As your older brother, to see you avenged. Unless you plan to tell me that blood kin loses its meaning in Aslan's country too?"

"Yet it was me he tried to harm. Since you failed to retaliate in the heat of the moment, exacting revenge is now my call."

"He deserves to burn," Caspian said slowly, with enough conviction for Edmund to fear for him. "He shall burn for what he did."

"You don't know what he did. You don't know what he meant."

"Know? What don't I know that could possibly change my mind? I felt terror, for the first time since I died, when you were attacked. Here in Aslan's country I felt such terror I haven't felt when facing death in battle. So tell me, Edmund, how am I not justified in ripping his heart out with my bare hands?"

"He's your son."

"Lion's mane, that is supposed to excuse him?"

"Yes! But if that doesn't stop you, then perhaps this will: I shall have no part in his murder, Caspian. Therefore, if you choose to continue with the plan, you will do so without me."

Caspian closed his eyes briefly, but Edmund saw he had already won the battle. "Very well. May I flay him instead?"

"No."

"But it would hardly do harm at all! Injuries are so quick to heal here, I'm sure he would writhe in pain for less than an hour. Maybe two, if I'm careful."

"Try and be silent, Caspian, if you can," Edmund said, when Lucy, even dear, sweet Lucy was nodding at that. The horror.

"What do you intend for us to do, then?" Peter asked.

"I'm not quite sure." That Rilian mustn't be killed on sight had been the thought on the forefront of his mind. As for the rest, he wasn't entirely sure. There was something he had to recall, something that he ought to be remembering then - a feeling, a thought so fleeting it escaped his grasp before he could realise it, and as he tried to chase it he found that he was tired, so very tired, and that his legs would hold him up no longer. "But Caspian, please."

"I promise. He shall not be killed on sight, at least."

Edmund was only awake long enough to know that Caspian wrapped his arms around him and whispered "Sleep," into his ear, and then all disappeared.


	3. Out From Behind This Mask

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER THREE - Out From Behind This Mask]

Wakefulness was slow to come. There was the moment of dread when he knew was awake and yet he couldn't will himself to move, but luckily it was only a moment.

Even half-awake he knew something was wrong. He had no idea how long he'd been dead, but during the time the weather was nothing if not perfect. Even when it rained the air had been crystal-clear and fresh as the first day of spring; the clouds glowed with sunlight which reflected in the drops of water, casting reflections onto every surface. It was not so now. The sky was yellowish like an old bruise, and the air was heavy. A storm was coming.

In the face of such radical change in the weather, however, it was excusable that the sight of Rilian, who was sitting on the windowsill, perched like a great black bird of prey, barely disturbed him. Edmund was reminded of photos of vultures in the desert, which would circle their prey and wait until the heat and sand drove it to death. Rilian's face was an unreadable mask, but Edmund felt no fear, even though he was alone in the bedroom and he felt sluggish, as if he had just woken from a deep, restless sleep.

There was some comfort in that he could hear the voices of Peter and Caspian - arguing, naturally - over the best course of actions through the open door. The slightest sound would send them flying inside with their swords drawn and Rilian was well aware of it. He put a finger to his lips and withdrew from the window, jumping onto the windowsill below.

Edmund followed without a thought.

"You don't seem to fear me," he said eventually, when they were far enough from the window that they couldn't be overheard from the bedroom.

"I don't."

"I wish to apologise. I behaved dishonourably, in a manner ill-befitting a king."

Edmund waited.

"I shall not ask your forgiveness," Rilian continued. "What I did to you was a terrible sin, one that I shall undoubtedly pay for many times over, but I shall not excuse myself, either."

"Why did you do it, then?"

"You took something from me, Edmund." The once-enchanted prince stepped so close that Edmund found he could only look into his bright, lucid eyes. The knife that had been used to carve him earlier that day was in Rilian's hand, still stained with his blood, and yet Edmund stood there calmly, without fear. "Although perhaps took is too strong a word, for you are not at fault, even though you must die for it. You were offered something though, as a gift, something that I desperately need."

Edmund blinked. "Have I? I have no recollection of stealing from you! You must believe me, when I say I had no intention of doing so."

"Oh, I know. This is why it brings me great pain to stand here, now, and tell you that I must kill you, painfully, as soon as you shall be ready to take me in honourable battle."

Ah, this was familiar territory. "I shall be glad to entertain a challenge, but Rilian, why? If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, say so! We don't have to be enemies."

"I bear you no ill will, Edmund. My father loves you dearly, and I almost understand why. I feel, when the world was different, we would have been brothers."

"Why, then?"

"Because I must," Rilian said quietly.

Edmund blinked then, and immediately had to duck, as a sword swung somewhere from his right, aiming at Rilian's head. "Peter, don't!"

Rilian dropped and rolled, avoiding the strike that would have taken a man's head off by inches. Edmund got to his feet, a touch unsteadily, and rushed to hang on Peter's sword arm. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I thank you, Edmund. I look forward to seeing you again, soon," Rilian said, and jumped off the roof.

"Why did you stop me?" Peter growled, shaking Edmund by the shoulder.

"What happened to you, killing a man in the middle of a conversation? I thought we agreed not to kill him!"

"When the man is responsible for almost slaughtering my little brother, I have very little patience or mercy to spare. Also, you will note that it was Caspian, not I, who promised to stay his hand should the opportunity present itself."

There would have been more, had Edmund not swayed where he stood just then. The weakness that swept through him left him sweating and pale. Thankfully, Peter dropped his sword to hold him up and help him back into the room, to find Caspian being forcibly restrained by Lucy and Eustace.

"What happened?" the three of them asked as one.

"He thought he might converse with Rilian, alone on the roof," Peter said.

Edmund let go of Peter's arm and sank onto the pillows gratefully. The wound hurt little, more pressing was the matter of weakness that sent black spots whirling across his vision.

"Rilian was here, again?" Caspian asked. "He dared?"

"He was. Calm down. He said he would do nothing until I feel ready enough to face the challenge."

"Oh, and he is now one of the people we trust?"

Edmund sat up and glared. Woefully he suspected that in his current condition the glare might command only enough power to get him a cup of hot tea, and not the attention he desired. "I have been involved in diplomatic negotiations since I was but eleven. If there's something you have to teach me about reading a man's intentions from his words, please, do share."

"Your skill failed you this morning."

Edmund winced. "Perhaps. Your son is an honourable man, though. He came here to apologise."

"You forgave him? Are you insane?"

"Certainly not! But he was remorseful, and truly regretted the subterfuge of the attack." Not the attack itself; Edmund was not quite so blinded by the need to understand and forgive to overlook that. Rilian had meant to do what he had done, and more.

"Oh, wonderful, let us then invite him for a feast and celebrate his newly found passion for murder! Why, let us tie you to the sacrificial altar, so that there could be greater ease in cleaning up after he's had his fun!" Caspian threw his hands in the air. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw was set and Edmund, despite better judgement, wanted nothing more than to have Caspian pressed against him, because all that fury, that helplessness and fear, all of it was for him alone. Caspian burned, and how glorious would it be to have the fire against his skin, not harming but igniting, and they would burn together.

"I sometimes wonder," Edmund said with great effort, "are you being obtuse on purpose, or is it just to annoy me?"

"Not everything is about you," Caspian said, when he couldn't look away.

Edmund tried to reach for his hand, but the movement caused pain to blossom across his ribs and he hissed. His chest was tender, even now, though from what he could tell the worst of it had healed.

"Let me," Lucy said, coming closer. She had a basin and actual bandages in her hands. One had to wonder where had those come from, when the injuries any of them had sustained in playful jousting had healed on their own within minutes.

"Really, I don't think it is necessary," Edmund started saying, but of course refusing Lucy was like denying the sun - pointless and painful, in the long run. "Caspian, get out," he said instead, because this sight he wished to spare him.

Caspian glared at him. "Why? Surely not because of false modesty, King Edmund?"

"Shut up," Peter hissed.

"Must we do this again? It's not like we all haven't seen Edmund naked, at one time or another." Caspian smiled, a special wicked smile that he reserved for tormenting the Pevensie brothers. It was peculiar how often it appeared whenever a bedroom was involved in any fashion.

"Why do I even bother, I often wonder," Edmund said to Lucy as she unwrapped the makeshift bandages from his chest. She shook her head and gave him a weak smile, which turned to worry as the final layer of cloth was removed.

It turned out Edmund was partially right. The wound was only an angry red mark now, and it ran in a curved line across his breast and down, to parallel the sternum, but it was still raw, and unlike every other wound he'd sustained, be it a scratch or a cut, it would leave a scar, of this he was certain.

"It doesn't look too bad," Lucy said, pressing a damp sponge to Edmund's skin. He breathed. Cool water was pleasant, however when her fingers shifted and came into contact with flesh he jerked away, gasping for breath. "Ed! Are you fine?"

Instantly Caspian was at his side, soothing the scare with nonsense whispered into Edmund's hair. His touch made it possible to breathe again and Edmund inhaled deeply a few times, to make sure whatever had jolted him was gone.

"I think I am."

"What was that, then?"

"I do wish I knew."

"Did it hurt?"

That Edmund had to ponder. "No," he said eventually. "I don't think it was pain."

"Well, what was it? And don't even pretend it was the cold."

"It wasn't. It just felt odd." If he were to be completely honest, it felt a little like having his secrets forcibly drawn from his mind and displayed for the world to see, most disquieting when he'd much rather his mind remained private, even at his most open.

"Odd is right," Caspian said slowly, giving Edmund the most peculiar look, one that very nearly made his heart stop. Caspian knew!

That was a development Edmund would live to regret, he thought, but calm, peace, he told himself. Just because Caspian worked something out, it didn't necessarily mean he knew everything there was to know. Caspian wasn't a fool. His reign had been successful (had it? Edmund made a note to find out as soon as possible), which meant there had to be diplomacy, that there had to be treaties and deals and the unconventional little agreements, made when no one expected any state affairs to be conducted at all. It didn't mean he could genuinely see into him, it couldn't!

Still, despite this reasoning, Edmund discovered that whatever had kept the fear at bay had gone. The mere idea that Caspian could see into his heart and know his innermost feelings filled him with dread so deep it became physical.

"Edmund?"

"I think I might be sick," he said. This was heaven, he told himself vaguely. There ought to be no sickness or death or fear, and yet here he was, coughing up the contents of his stomach because of fear that his soul was laid bare to Caspian, when he'd almost been murdered by Caspian's own son.

"I think something might be wrong," he said, slowly sliding down the wall. The stone against his back was cold, the kind of cold he half-remembered from the winters of either of worlds he knew; the absence of warmth that becomes a void, into which all warmth must disappear. "Dreadfully wrong."

Despite the dread he did not protest when Caspian came to wrap his arms around him. He couldn't find in himself the strength necessary for such an act; he thought then he never would.

Outside, a lightning crossed the sky, followed by thunder of such volume Edmund couldn't hear for a full minute afterwards. This was not the worst of it, however.

Eustace ventured close to the window and leaned out, as far as he dared. Edmund saw his face change as he looked around. "The tower is on fire!"

"Surely not!" Lucy said, but Peter interrupted. "It cannot be. The tower is naked stone. There is nothing there that could possibly catch fire!"

"And yet it has. See for yourself if you don't believe me!"

Edmund believed. He didn't need to look out the window, he didn't even need to raise his head from Caspian's shoulder. The embrace tightened and he knew that Caspian was feeling the same thing.

"I wonder," he said, purely out of the need to test the theory, "if you all have the same feeling."

"That would be?"

"That something is on fire."

"Something is on fire."

"Yes, but does it feel like it is on fire?"

"I would ask that you refrain from posing philosophical questions, Ed. Not all of us have your training in the field."

"You studied philosophy?" Caspian asked, curiously.

"Theology, actually."

"Theology?" Caspian's brow furrowed and Edmund wondered how to explain the idea to one whose god often visited to provide counsel.

"I studied to be a priest. Do you recall the priests of Tash, during the great ceremonies in Tashban? I am certain you have witnessed a few."

Caspian blinked and immediately a look of revulsion passed his face. "There was blood there," he said. Then quieter, "Rilian was there with me. He was ten, perhaps. They killed a bull on the altar. Stabbed it over and over until it could no long stand and they got a child to cut its heart out." Another moment passed. "You mean to say you would have done something like that?"

"No. It's a little more complex. In our world there is much less blood involved and no stabbing whatsoever."

"That still seems strange to me."

"Lovely," Eustace said. "Now can we attend to the fire, or are there any more anecdotes you wish to swap? I'm sure we have plenty of time before it spreads. It's certainly not burning naked stone."

Despite the tone, which Peter likely would have taken umbrage to, were they in a less pressing situation, Eustace's words were sensible. "Let's go," Peter said. "Lu, you go straight out, take Edmund with you. We three shall make sure the rest of the castle is empty."

Edmund would have commented on the fact that Caspian moved to obey, but he was far too angered by being left out of the search party to notice. "I am certainly not leaving you three in here."

"Yes, you are," Peter said. "Because you are sensible and you will notice that you are hurt and therefore you need to be evacuated first. You will notice that whatever happened here, started somehow with you, so whichever way we go, harm will follow, regardless. And anyway, it won't take us long."

"That is ridiculous!" It wasn't. It was sensible. It was the rational thing to do, but it meant being away from Caspian for the duration. Edmund's hands shook unexpectedly. He closed his fists and breathed out.

"I agree," Caspian said meanwhile. "If I may be so bold as to utter a command of my own, Lucy, if you should come across Rilian, feel free to stab him. If you later say that he threatened either of you, I will believe you without question."

"Even in the face of overwhelming forensic evidence to the contrary?" Edmund asked, suddenly too tired to protest in a voice louder than a whisper.

"My King," Caspian said, "are you saying you Queen-sister's word is worth less than whatever is lying about on the scene?"

"In our world, courts are supposed to be impartial, regardless of whose testimony it hears."

"I am thankful, then, that we aren't in your world. Go now," Caspian said in a imperious tone, but the fleeting touch of his hand on Edmund's face, almost as fragile as the look in his eyes, beseeched Edmund to stay safe.

Perhaps, if Edmund hadn't felt another wave of nausea sweeping through him, he would have protested again, louder. As it was, he was grateful he had Lucy to lean on as they made their way hurriedly out of the castle, which seemed less and less like Cair Paravel by the minute.

"Which way should we go?" Lucy asked suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop.

"What?" Edmund opened his eyes wide, for they were standing in a corridor he didn't know. Judging by the decorations, it wasn't Narnian, either. There was black marble on the floor, polished until its surface was not unlike a mirror, and rich jewels encrusted the walls. Most of them were the eyes of animals and people, populating the paintings and tapestry.

"I think this might be a Tisroc's palace," Edmund said slowly, tilting his head. He nodded at the nearest wall. "I recognise the scene. I think I was told the story when me and Su were in Tashban. Do you remember, when Rabadash tried to marry her-"

He stopped talking just as Lucy drew a shuddering breath. "Susan!" they both exclaimed and gazed upon one another with fearful eyes. "Oh Edmund, how could we have forgotten Susan?"

"I wish I had an answer for you." Susan. Lion's mane! How long had it been, since he and Peter stood on the platform, watching the train speed towards them faster than seemed safe? Did she know yet? Did she cry? She was all alone now, and neither of them had spared her a thought.

"How could we?" Lucy asked again and tears flew down her face as she spoke.

"My lady?"

Edmund turned, though his vision swam. There was Emeth the Calormene, standing before them in his armour and with a drawn sword. "I apologise. I heard the most dreadful noise, and when I ran to see if perhaps there was a siege, I saw this corridor. I have seen nothing like it in your castle since I arrived here."

"Neither have we. Do you recognise it?"

"Barely," Emeth said. "It is without doubt the Tisroc's palace, and this corridor leads to the altar of Tash. I have seen it once, when I was a boy."

"Then I think we better not head that way," Edmund said. The nausea still haunted him; he could bend it to his will now, but something elusive told him that it would be worse if they headed into the foreign corridor. Already the faint traces of incense were making him sick.

"Surely in this place-"

"I can't explain it. I don't know how. Let's find another way."

"As you desire, my lord."

"Emeth, I would much rather you called me by my name. I believe I told you as much no less than five times."

Emeth looked to the floor and his cheeks coloured. "I believe you have, yes. I beg your forgiveness, but you are a king and queen, and in Calormen it is only among close friends and equals that one uses his given name. I didn't wish to presume."

"We are equals," Lucy piped up, smiling her brightest smile, which momentarily blinded the young soldier. Edmund looked away and smiled. Lucy had that effect on many people. "And we are friends. Are we not?"

"You honour me, Lucy," Emeth said with a small bow.

Something stirred in the darkness of the unfamiliar corridor and a foul stench wafted through the air. There was movement in the darkness ahead, slow and sluggish, as though something, whatever it was, was crawling through tar. The stuffiness that heralded a storm was growing thick around them and soon, Edmund feared, they would be equally trapped, fighting for each stride.

"We must hurry," Edmund said. "I have no desire to see what lies there."

It was bad enough suspecting and knowing that he was likely correct. He had seen Tash once before. He had no desire to see the demon again, especially not when he was weakened and confused.

The three of them rushed back the way they came, taking the first left, which, if Edmund's memory of Cair Paravel's secret passages was of any use, should take them directly to the narrow staircase, cleverly woven into the pillars that decorated the eastern gallery. It had been a work of art - one would be hard pressed to notice it at the best of times, and even he often had to retreat a few steps to find the doorway.

"To the left," he muttered when they reached the gallery. "Next to the hare, behind the horse."

He didn't dare to look at the reliefs too closely, a habit that remained with him even now that Narnia was long dead. They were so beautiful, true, lovingly sculpted by the dwarves into white marble, but to him the whiteness was cold and from the eyes of every statue the memory of those enchanted into stone looked into him with their empty, accusing eyes.

"Here!" he said finally, when the hare, caught by the sculptor mid-hop, surprised him. It was so lifelike, that at times it looked like it was a real creature, immobilised by some malignant spell. He found himself staring at it and his heart beat wildly as he searched for a hint, a clue, that this was what had happened to the poor beast and all had forgotten it. Perhaps it was a lonely hare, with no family nor friends, caught unaware, doomed to forever leap over a flagstone, never moving an inch.

"Edmund," Emeth started saying, but Lucy was already disappearing behind the pillar, into the narrow staircase.

"It will take us outside, or as close as we can get from here," Edmund said before following his sister. There was no time for this. Not now.

Though the entrance was narrow, the stairs would easily fit a large man. There were windows in the wall opposite, but they were of no comfort at this time, for the only light they yielded was a greenish glow that gave the narrow staircase a sickly ambience.

Edmund watched Lucy put her hand to the wall and close her eyes. She was remembering the many times this very staircase had been her hiding place, how she would run through the corridors, either chasing or looking for her siblings, or Mister Tumnus, or a hundred creatures that had once inhabited the castle and would play with her. He recalled being involved in the chases, of fleeing down those steps and coming to this place to find... There ought to be a torch on the wall, Edmund realised. That was what Lucy was remembering, that was what she was making the castle remember.

A moment later she held the burning torch over her head, lighting their way.

"This is a masterful skill," Emeth said behind Edmund.

"Lucy is quick to learn the rules of such places," he said in reply. "Always has been." He knew it was possible, naturally, but to draw what was needed from a naked wall with such effortlessness, that was a feat he had yet to accomplish.

"It was hard," Lucy said meanwhile and her voice trembled. "I had to beg for it to come. Usually it would just melt into my hand, but now the stone is resisting."

"I know." Edmund looked around. "Wait a moment. There's an armoury here."

"Ed," Lucy started saying.

"I know, I know. But I'd much rather have a sword at my side, just in case."

It hadn't been touched. Edmund had wandered here one evening (or was it morning? The time he spent in this place seemed a blur) to find the room cheery and sunlit. Now instead of the gleam that brought to mind tournaments and knightly duels, the dulled light, barely glinting off the steel, made Edmund think of battles and blood.

"We'll take this," he said, picking up the sword Rhindon from its shelf. "Peter will want it."

Lucy nodded and, though she was still unhappy, picked out a bow and a quiver for herself. After a moment's thought she added a dagger as well. "I think I ought to change," she said absentmindedly, fingering the hem of her dress.

"Later." Edmund fastened the belt on himself and picked up another couple of swords. "Let's go."

"Will you wear no armour?" Emeth asked.

That was a sound idea. Given Rilian's apparent intentions, it was a splendid idea. Edmund gave it a thought. "I don't want to," he said. "It's too final." It would mean there really was a war.

"I understand." Emeth picked up a hunting knife. "At least I believe I do. I have only rarely spent a day out of my armour. It almost feels like my everyday garb. May I borrow this?"

"It's yours."

Lucy beckoned from the doorway. "It's spreading," she said fearfully. There were dark vines on the wall opposite. It took a few moments of staring, but eventually Edmund saw what had made Lucy so scared - the vines were growing into the walls. The sprouts burrowed into stone like it was freshly dug earth, leaving crumbles on the ground. Though the strength was nowhere near what they smelled in the corridor, the plants smelt of rot and decay.

"Let's hurry," he said simply.

They burst out of the side doors just as Caspian, Peter and Eustace, followed by Jill, came out of the main gate. Behind them the castle groaned. The vines still spread, coming through the door and folding around the doorways, crawling at a snail's pace up the walls, into every window and portal they reached. Their leaves shivered and fell easily, falling onto the ground as though they were stones. There was no wind to carry them, not yet, but the tension was mounting and soon the sky would break, drowning the castle in rain and hail.

"Lu! Ed!" Peter was across the courtyard in a heartbeat. "Are you fine?"

"Yes, thank you. Here." Lucy handed Peter the sword. "Edmund thought it would be useful to be armed."

"Good thinking, Ed." Peter took Rhindon and looked around to see someone on whom he could bestow the sword he carried. "Jill, you have no blade. Do you know how to fence?"

"I suppose," she said without conviction, but Lucy solved the matter by giving her the bow and taking the sword for herself.

"You found only Jill?" she asked. "How is that possible?"

"Don't ask me. We screamed ourselves stupid, but no one else responded." Eustace shook his head and cursed at the stubborn buckle. "It seemed so empty!"

"Shouldn't we alert someone?" Lucy asked, stabbing the leather of the belt with her dagger to fit it on her narrow waist. "I mean, there must be more people here!"

"Who? We didn't see anyone, we would have warned them, if we had."

"What now?" Caspian asked.

Therein, Edmund thought, was the crux of the matter. What were they to do? The castle was fast disappearing underneath the vines and the sky was covered by clouds so thick and heavy Edmund thought they would surely burst to rain lead upon their heads.

"I think…" Peter started hesitantly, "That we must find Aslan."

"Easier said than done."

"It usually is, yes. When was the last time anyone spoke to him?"

"I did. It was a day before today. Maybe two? It was around the same time we had that picnic by the lake, do you remember?" Lucy said. "I don't recall much of the talk, though."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Does he ever leave an itinerary? Honestly, Peter."

"You're right."

"What about other worlds?" Caspian asked. "The other mountains that connect to this one. Shouldn't they be warned?"

"Do you think they will fall apart as well?"

"Nothing is falling apart yet," Eustace pointed out reasonably. "There have only been some changes."

"I'm not so sure." Edmund found he was rubbing the mark on his chest. The nausea was returning now, a rather alarming idea, when he already felt wrung out and empty. "I think Tash might be coming through."

This was met with an outraged chorus of "What?"

"We saw a corridor in the palace," Lucy said quickly. "Emeth said it was like the one that led to the temple of Tash in Tisroc's palace. There was something foul lurking there, I don't know if it was Tash, but I hope not."

"How is that even possible?" Jill asked. She was very pale. "Isn't Aslan supposed to keep that, that thing away just by being here?"

"He isn't here."

"But this is his country! How can it be that the demon is even here?"

No one had an answer for her.

"Look, there's nothing to it," Edmund said. "So far it is only the castle that is affected, the rest - aside from the sky - seems normal. Do let's be calm."

"You're not too calm," Eustace observed. "You're fretting."

"Excuse me?" Edmund was certain he was not. Even if inside his mind was jittering, he was speaking in a controlled tone of voice, his words were sensible. Truly, he ought to be the picture of composure.

"Eustace is right. You are fretting." Peter gave him a long, frightening stare. "But you don't look like you're fretting. That is most peculiar."

Edmund found, to his horror, that everyone was looking at him curiously, and they all flinched the moment he realised he was terrified of it. "My mental state aside," he said, fast as he could, "and barring any other ideas, I should like to check up on our parents."

"That's a good start," Peter said. "I think Polly and Digory ought to be in England as well, maybe they would have a clue. Is there any business anyone wishes to attend to here before we depart?"

There was silence. Edmund felt a hand close around his and he breathed out as some of the nausea ebbed away. "It is not such dreadful a thing," Caspian whispered. "Truly. I enjoy knowing what you feel."

"Then you are a sadist, because what I feel is terror."

Caspian said nothing. He brushed the hair from Edmund's forehead and leaned forth to kiss him. "You need not be terrified."

You need not be breathing, he might as well have said.

It occurred to Edmund then that he was dead and that he certainly shouldn't need to breathe. He tested the theory by exhaling and counting the steps he took before he needed to inhale again. He got to a hundred when Peter stopped in his tracks.

"Does anyone actually know how to get to England? I don't think I've ever gone, since we got here."

"How long have we been here, anyway?" Lucy asked.

"Why?"

"Because, oh, Peter! We remembered, in the hall, Ed and I, we remembered Susan."

Peter turned quite pale. "Susan! Lion's mane! The train!"

Caspian gave Edmund a questioning look.

"We were killed in a train crash." When Caspian showed only moderate understanding, Edmund remembered that public transportation in Narnia consisted of horses and carriages. It was so hard to reconcile the two worlds living in his head, sometimes. "It's a chain of wagons, pulled by something of a dragon, I suppose."

"You have found a practical use for dragons?" Caspian said, glancing at Eustace in amusement.

"It's not an actual dragon," Edmund said, ignoring Eustace's offended yelp. "It's a machine. If we go to England you might see one."

"I look forward to it."

"So, does anyone know the way?" Lucy asked, in lieu of Peter, who was still shocked by the novelty of guilt, compassion and unabridged memory.

"I've been," Jill said. "We need to go north, far as we're able. The bridge comes through a wall."

"What?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense when you say it. You'll see."

They hurried through the darkened groves and forests. Edmund was eerily reminded of his solitary journey through Narnia, when he walked through the snow and darkness to the witch's home. There had been a similar silence in the air then. It was as though the whole of the world had held its breath in fear of waking up something hideous.

He was stupidly grateful, though he would never say it out loud, for Caspian holding his hand.

The landscape through which they travelled was vastly different from the one they'd got accustomed to. The grandeur of the world with worlds held fast, though now instead of inspiring awe and delight, Edmund felt as though it was looming over him, high, mighty and nefarious. The mountains revealed their wild edges, the trees were so twisted and gnarly they seemed like some strange creatures he dared not imagine, and the talking beasts they came upon were more like wilder beasts than the creatures he trusted as his advisors once.

"It is falling apart," he said to no one in particular, and thankfully Caspian was the only one to have heard.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I was worried that it seemed too good to be true."

"How do you mean?"

"Didn't you feel that way? I thought the happiness would choke the breath out of me, it was so overwhelming, so frightening." Edmund stared at the sky again, and this time, despite the leaden colour and the threat of rain, he found it somewhat comforting. He must have seen a hundred such clouds in his lifetime. "I thought it couldn't possibly be real."

Caspian stopped. "Were you unhappy?"

Edmund didn't let him fall back. He was silent for several minutes, trying to gather and sort the wild ideas rushing through his head and found, to his astonishment, that the reply was staring him in the face.

"I am happy," he said with a sense of wonder. Even now, when they were running from the collapse of what was supposed to be eternal peace, he felt that his soul was aflame with joy, simply because he held Caspian's hand in his own. Even the fear of seeing the knowledge seep into Caspian's eyes couldn't diminish the revelation.

"Me too," Caspian said simply, before their attention turned back to their surroundings.

Jill led them through the mazes of the darkened forests as sure as though she were walking through her own boudoir. She could move through the grass and dried twigs that littered the floor without a sound, when the rest of them made enough noise to wake sleeping bears. Occasionally she would pause, cast a look to either side and continue on, adjusting the course subtly, to get around a cluster of trees that would be too hard to walk straight through.

"Are you sure she's English?" Edmund heard Peter ask.

"Pretty sure, yes. She was hopeless the first time she was here." Eustace shoved his hands in his pockets. "We would have frozen to death if it were up to her then."

"Amazing. I have met dryads who made more fuss walking through a forest."

"I don't think I would want to meet a dryad right now," Eustace said with a shudder. Edmund had to agree. The trees that surrounded them were tall, monstrous things, with branches spread out as if to grasp the sky in their clutches and tear it asunder.

"I know what you mean."

They walked in silence after that. The light was changing ever so subtly, and the darker it got the faster they walked, until at last they were running, without a word, without so much as a hint to one another. Edmund suspected that what they all thought that staying in the forest when the new, unfamiliar, unsafe darkness fell would have been a punishment too harsh for even their worst enemy.

Thankfully, some of the old heaven had been preserved, and they didn't grow tired as they ran. Edmund hoped the turn of speed would help him to leave nausea behind, and for a time it was true. Though the air still felt clammy and Edmund expected the rain to start falling at any minute, the illusion of wind created by the speed helped to keep his head clear.

The race was over too soon, however. They reached the edge of the forest and the great wall that lay before them was, just as Jill had implied, beyond words. The best they could say was that there was a bridge, lit with countless white lights, but there was also a wall, and both were clear as the light of day and yet unfathomable as the deepest darkness of the deepest caverns of night.

Far in the distance, so great that, were they alive, they would find in insurmountable, was another mountain, glittering with lights and - seemingly - the promise of safety.

"We are to cross?" Emeth said, and there was a touch of doubt in his voice. Edmund couldn't blame him. Although the structure looked to be as old and solid as time, although the bridge was built of giant trees, bound together, although it looked as if no cataclysm could possibly mark it, it looked insignificant next to the ravine it spanned. Its other end was far in the distance, on a mountain so great human mind had no hope of processing the size and yet there was something that pulled him towards it.

"We must," Peter said, and it was then that Edmund saw something else. One of the lights shining by the pillars that marked the beginning of the bridge was different from the others; it was bluer and seemed to move by itself.

It was coming towards them and as it stood against the dark horizon Edmund saw that it had the shape of a woman. It was Lilliandil.

"Welcome," she said. "I am glad you made it. Much of the land is collapsing; there's no time left to spare."

"My lady," Caspian said then, letting go of Edmund's hand and coming to greet his wife. "I am most glad to see you are unharmed. I must however share with you some dreadful news concerning Rilian."

She turned to him with a questioning look. "He is not with you."

"I should like to avoid his company, until I can be persuaded to stand it without succumbing to anger. Rilian has attempted to murder Edmund," Caspian said, looking into her eyes solemnly.

The star bore it without a hint of feeling. "I know," she said at last.


	4. Kosmos

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER FOUR - Kosmos]

There was silence. It was as though the world had stopped spinning.

"My lady?" Caspian whispered.

"I was the one who told him how to commit such a deed in this place. I was the one to show him where an appropriate weapon could be found."

Caspian took the news without as much as a blink to display his surprise. He stood there frozen, as were they all, for a heartbeat, then, without warning, he drew his sword and he would have driven it through Lilliandil's neck, had she not raised a hand to protect herself.

Edmund was quite certain no one had ever fought a star, and now he came to realise the futility of such endeavour. Lilliandil caught the blade in her naked hand, and the sword shone in her grip. Edmund saw a tendril of smoke rise from Caspian's palm and he let go with a cry. She'd struck him on the chest, just once, sending him sprawling a dozen feet back.

"I have no desire to fight you all. If you won't stand in my way, you may continue to the bridge and beyond," she said. "Edmund, if you value your companions' safety, you must come with me."

"He shall not go anywhere," Emeth said, stepping in front of Edmund, "But across the bridge with us."

"Peter, quick," Edmund said, making use of whatever time Emeth bought him. "Take Lucy and Jill and cross the bridge. We'll follow."

Peter's eyes narrowed, but he took in the quick way Edmund's gaze flickered to the side. A frown and then they were on the same page. Without a sound Peter inclined his head and moved, ushering the girls on.

"Edmund, surely you will not allow your friend to fight your battles for you?"

"Madam, I shall not. I must however ask, is this necessary? If I offended you, I shall make whatever amends you see fit, but for the life of me I do not see what ill I caused you."

Lilliandil stood there, serene and motionless. "You took something from me," she said simply. "I wish it weren't so, but it is an offence that can only be paid in your blood."

Her gaze never wavered from his and Edmund felt as though his insides had frozen. Suddenly it was the witch's face he saw, instead of the star's, and her icy voice accusing him of ruining her, ruining the land she loved, in her own way, the only land she had ever loved. "My lady," he began, but she didn't let him finish.

"You took my husband from me."

Edmund drew a breath that by some miracle did not shudder. He trembled, whether from the imagined cold or from the accusation, he didn't know. "My lady, you are not fair," he said, finding himself at a loss. "He hasn't been yours when I saw him last. You cannot fault me for what I had no control over."

Thankfully, Lilliandil had allowed herself to become distracted, even more so as Edmund walked towards her. There were seven of them; Jill, Lucy and Eustace were already on the bridge, Emeth and Peter stood at its beginning and Caspian was very nearly upright again, and moving towards it.

Edmund stood in front of the star with his mind empty of all thought. "Lilliandil, you must believe what I say. Taking him away from you was never my intention. I had left; I had no hope of ever returning to Narnia. We both knew that."

"And yet it was to you my king's thoughts strayed, no matter how far away your world was." Edmund closed his eyes and resolved to yell at Caspian, when he got the chance. He opened his mouth to speak, but a feather-light touch upon his lips stopped him. "You must understand, that all debts shall be repaid and so this is what I must do."

Edmund smiled. "You must understand," he said, "that I shan't go quietly to my death."

With that he dropped to the ground and rolled away, just as Peter and Caspian struck at her simultaneously with their swords. He was running as soon he was on his feet again and he knew that both Peter and Caspian were too.

He reached the start of the bridge side by side with Caspian, but when he turned his breath caught in his throat. Lilliandil had Peter lying prostrate on the ground, the tip of his own sword held to his neck.

"Edmund, do not force my hand," she said. "Please step off the bridge and come with me."

"Don't you dare!" Peter yelled, though there was no order anyone could give that would stop Edmund from conceding to all demands in the face of such ultimatum.

Save, it would seem, for Caspian's hand grasping his arm. "Trust me," Caspian whispered into Edmund's ear. Then louder, "He shall not go, my lady. Whatever quarrel you have over my fidelity to you, it is with me and me alone."

"I wish it were so."

"Nevertheless, you will release the High King," Caspian said with conviction.

Lilliandil was silent. The sword in her hand never wavered, but at long last - after what felt like hours to Edmund - she stood back, allowing Peter to his feet. As though to confirm her easy victory, she offered him Rhindon back, which he took and retreated to the bridge without taking his eyes off her luminous figure.

"Edmund," she said once Peter was safely alongside them. "Are you certain you wish to run? You're already broken; surely it would be better for you to face death with honour, with your spirit high, before you succumb to the inevitable."

Edmund's hand came up on its own, to rest against the mark made by Rilian's knife. Peter and Caspian, and everyone, were looking at him in horror. "I do not feel broken, my lady," he said quietly. Then, stronger, "Even if what you say is true, I shall die knowing I fought to the last, and no sooner."

"If you leave here now you shall regret it." She came forth and stopped at the very line that marked the beginning of the bridge. She would move no further. If there was ever emotion in her face, it had to be now: her eyes were pleading for understanding and surrender. "I promise you as much."

"My queen," Caspian said, and his voice was that of a warrior who'd survived a hundred battles, expected to be in a hundred more, and cursed each morning, but rose all the same, to fight his way through. "I promise you that you shall pay dearly, should any harm come to Edmund."

Lilliandil merely smiled. Her fingers stopped short of crossing the borderline of the bridge, as though held off by an invisible barrier, and Edmund realised with relief that she couldn't, not just wouldn't, step onto the bridge after all. It was one thing to suspect, quite another to have the suspicion on which he'd bet his family's lives confirmed.

They turned away from her, one by one, and marched on. Edmund chanced a look back when they were far enough, and he saw the star looking after them, serene, and certain, even as her hands curled into fists and dropped to her sides. If stars wept, he thought suddenly, she was doing it now.

He turned to face the distant mountain ahead, and tried to banish the sight of Lilliandil and her strange words from his mind, finding the task nigh impossible.

The once heavenly Narnia was far behind them, when they dared to speak again. "How did you know she wouldn't harm Peter?" Edmund asked Caspian.

"She was my wife for thirty-five years."

"I assume you haven't had many dalliances during that time." Edmund rolled his eyes. "It is always a good idea to study the customs of the people you plan on marrying into, and the stars evidently are violently monogamous."

"I meant she has never harmed anything living. She would only eat fruit and milk and honey. She wouldn't participate in, nay, wouldn't even watch mock battles." Caspian frowned at Edmund. "And no, I hadn't. Not one." The final comment carried a note of hurt, as though he expected Edmund to know and not be so flippant.

"It is a good thing, then, since she seems to regard your devotion to my brother as criminal," Peter said. "I fear to wonder what she could have done as queen."

"I have never lied to her."

"You proposed marriage to her by saying you fancied someone else?" Eustace asked, and the silence from Caspian nearly caused Edmund to lose his footing.

"You did," he accused. "You did just that! You told her you had no intention of marrying her, except a rashly made promise compelled you to propose anyway!"

"Do not be absurd." Caspian looked away, presumably to hide the tell-tale flush that blossomed across his face. "That would have been disrespectful to the lady." There was another moment of silence. "That might have been the general sentiment, though."

"However did you manage to hold on to your kingship?" Edmund asked, incredulous and fiery. Such honesty was as noble as it was foolish, especially from a king, and Caspian… Well, what else should he expect from his king, but the breathless, uncompromising honesty, even if it threatened ruin? He laced their fingers together and gripped them tight, before he spoke next. "Unless you left diplomacy in charge of others, it is a wonder Narnia lasted as long as it had!"

"What did you say?" Jill asked meanwhile, with keen interest. "I mean, she did marry you, so it had to be convincing."

In the pale light the burst of colour was stark against Caspian's skin. "I dare say that is a private matter."

"Not when your wife is trying to kill my brother over it, it isn't," Peter said darkly. "If it turns out she hurt Edmund because you mistreated her, I will kill you. Sorry Ed."

"If it turns out he mistreated her, I will kill him myself," Edmund said.

"Do you think I have no honour? She was my queen; she had my utmost respect and all the affection I could afford to give."

"So what did you tell her?"

Caspian sighed. "I said that while my people are eagerly awaiting my return, they are equally eager to see me married, and I would find it an honour if she would consider returning with me, as my fiancée. I said that I would happily take her to Narnia, so she could see the people and land for herself and decide whether it would please her to become their queen. I said that although my affection lay elsewhere, they were unattainable, and therefore she could be assured her happiness would be my utmost concern."

Edmund listened to most of the speech with his mouth open. "You," he managed with difficulty, "you blundering idiot!"

"Well, what did you expect me to say? At least that I could say in all honesty."

"Anything but that! However did Narnian diplomacy survive with you at the helm, I shall never understand."

"So it is my diplomatic skills that are questioned now?" Caspian glared. "By my reckoning I was quite the success, given the lack of open conflict and only a few minor skirmishes."

"Great lion. It's not about politics and you know it! Caspian, that is not how one romances women," Edmund said, earning himself a round of very pointed stares (and one nod of agreement from Peter), none of them as poignant as the very wounded look in Caspian's eyes.

"I wouldn't know," he said stiffly.

"You may as well have told her you needed a breeding mare."

"I considered it, but I thought it might be rude."

"However incompetent that was," Peter started before Edmund could reply, "it still begs the question why did she agree. Forgive me, Ed, but I have to give Caspian his due, if he said to her what he'd just told us, then she had been warned and if she agreed to the terms, then I don't think she has grounds to complain now."

"As I recall, there are sayings about women scorned in their affections and how one should steer clear of them. Besides, I don't think we would gain much by speculating on the nature of her animosity, when she could easily overpower us all."

"May I remind you, she had been my queen for thirty-five years. Even if my feelings regarding her as my wife weren't what they perhaps should have been, she had been dear to me and I valued her as a companion. I know her, or I knew her, well." Caspian shook his head in dismay. "No matter what Edmund seems to think of my skill, I am not wholly hopeless at telling apart affection from possessiveness and jealousy.

"Lilliandil does not feel like we do. The marriage was to her just as impersonal as it was to me, whatever affection was there between us was the result of not the vows but friendship, and I am telling you - she wouldn't have cared if I had philandered with every man and woman of the court. I know as much because she told me so."

Edmund's face, unexpectedly, grew very hot. Perhaps it was the idea that someone else had touched Caspian, which was a thought he had been trying to avoid, though of course the words "royal succession" spoke for themselves. But it wasn't that. A queen he could have suffered, when he knew it was necessary, that Narnia demanded it, but someone, anyone else, someone that Caspian chose - he suspected he must be not so different from Lilliandil after all, as the very thought that someone other than him saw the soft look in Caspian's eyes, the way they darkened with desire with every fervent kiss, was enough to flood him with intense desire for revenge.

"Unless maybe she killed them without you knowing about it," Lucy was saying. "Do not look at me like that. I know what courts are like. A casual affair is easy to hide, and it's even easier for a queen to make an unwanted courtier disappear."

"Well, I wouldn't know about disappearing," Peter said with a grin, "but Lucy has a point."

"I am as always delighted to hear my assurances treated with gravity," Caspian growled. "Let me say once more that I was faithful to my wife, regardless of how either of us felt about the marriage itself."

Caspian's tone silenced all further questions. Peter and Lucy soon migrated to the front of the column, closely followed by Eustace and Jill, and Emeth. Edmund tried to match his pace to theirs, if only to outrun the vicious thoughts plaguing his mind, but Caspian held his arm in a vice-like grip.

"What would have you had me say to her?" he asked. "Would you rather I'd lied?"

"No, of course not. I would rather you sounded at least like it wasn't some terrible punishment that you had to endure."

"But it was."

"Why must you dramatise?"

"It was mere weeks after you'd left me. What did you expect, that I would happily offer my affections to another, as soon as you were gone?"

"I had seen men do so," Edmund said. Indeed, courtly love was often the most strange: it would go from fiery declarations and passion to having the very object of affection swapped for another the next.

Caspian, however, took offence. "I would have stayed faithful to you, were I free to do so." Then, quietly, he asked, "Did you marry?"

"I died young."

"But you would have."

"Eventually. Are you disappointed?"

"I assumed that you wouldn't. There was nothing to force you to."

"Just because I wasn't king in my world, it doesn't mean I didn't have expectations placed on me. Yes, to answer your query - there was a girl that I would have married," he said, discovering to his great surprise that he remembered Jane. Like Susan, she had been gone from his memory until now. He wondered how many other people he had yet to remember, how many friends he'd left in mourning, back in England.

Fortunately, he had a feeling there weren't many.

There was another long moment of silence. Caspian wore the wounded look that made Edmund wish he could close the bedroom door behind them and never venture outside again. How else could he be sure that no one else would know the moans that spilled from his lips when he kissed the inside of his elbow, scraping his teeth along the fragile skin, feeling the faint pulse beneath his lips?

"Did you love her?" Caspian's voice was so quiet, barely even a whisper. Edmund saw fear in his posture, and his heart constricted. Perhaps that was how his hand ended up tangled in Caspian's hair, why he turned his head and stared into his eyes, dropping all pretence of hating this openness that was forced on him.

"She was kind to me. She entertained my drunken ravings. I would have to be made of stone not to repay her kindness with affection." He did love Jane, he supposed; he would be glad to meet her in heaven one day. Of course there was being glad to see someone and there was the heart-stopping mindless elation of finding Caspian anew. "She wasn't you," he said at last. "She could never be you."

"At least there's that." Caspian gave Edmund a small smile, that quickly grew mischievous. "How is it you are an expert on romancing women? There was precious little about your affairs in history books."

"That is why," Edmund said shortly turning to follow the rest of their small party.

A moment later he nearly tripped over Lucy.

"What are you doing?" he asked once he righted himself. All five of them were lying side by side on the edge of the bridge, staring into the chasm below.

Lucy was the only one to turn to look at him. Her eyes were wide as saucers. Her mouth trembled but she found no words, so Edmund edged towards the brink cautiously.

Far, far below, further than the eye could see, at the very bottom of the sloping mountain, there was light. Edmund gazed at it in wonder. It was brighter than any sun and warm, and its rays reached to all the mountains, illuminating them from within, and how had he never noticed this, that there was such a wonder beneath the ground they trod on. It wove itself into the earth, reaching into the highest mountains, into the deepest valleys, pulsing with the heartbeat that Edmund found his own heart eager to match.

It reached for him then, a bright and welcoming presence that he perhaps ought to be humbled by, but wasn't, so he held out his hand and took another step, for surely all that he feared and dreaded, all that had gone wrong could be fixed if he could just reach the light and feel its embrace.

The next thing he knew was Caspian's frantic face, twisted in an anguished scream. "Edmund!" he was yelling, over and over.

"Stop yelling," Edmund managed to slur. There were hands gripping his face, and a hard edge dug into his head. He realised he was lying on his back, on the wooden bridge, surrounded by faces no less distressed than Caspian's. "I'm right here."

"We must get off the bridge," Peter said. "We can't risk going any further."

"What? No, we must go," Edmund said as he sat up, nearly hitting Caspian's forehead with his. "Narnia is collapsing. We can only hope the same thing isn't happening elsewhere."

"Edmund, you nearly dived of the bridge!" Lucy said.

Edmund looked at the surrounding faces, seeking confirmation of what he knew couldn't possibly be true, but the horror and panic in them proved otherwise. "What happened?"

"We don't know. We just saw you walk straight to the edge and then try to vault over the railings."

"I see."

"That's all you have to say? You just tried to kill yourself!"

Emeth looked over the railing. "Look," he said urgently. "It changes!"

As one, they rushed towards the brink, though Edmund's progress was hindered by Caspian and Peter, who insisted on gripping his arms on either side, "So to prevent any shenanigans," Peter said, and he was strangely humourless as he did so.

"Really, is this necessary?" Edmund asked as they neared the railings enough to peer over them. "I am not a child."

"A tether might not go amiss," Caspian muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You try that, Caspian, and I will hogtie you and drown you in a pond."

"I am tempted to lend a hand," Peter said. "To Caspian."

"iTu quoque, frateri mi/i?"

"Ed, you tried to jump off a bridge," Peter started saying, but his voice washed over Edmund, suddenly meaningless, because they were looking down.

The bridge that connected the mountains was long and the mountains high - they hadn't walked far enough to reach even a quarter of the bridge's length, so directly below them there was the grassy slope, disappearing into the fog lower still, and the light was at the mountain's roots, if not lower down. Edmund could see now that where the mountain met the ground, if there was any to meet, the light had taken hold, licking at the bases of the range like waves lick at the sands of the shore. It beckoned to him like gravity beckons a jumper, who'd taken a step off the ledge, if gravity could open her arms and be this blinding brightness that promised absolution.

Edmund keenly felt the hands on his arms, which held him back from the light, and for a moment he considered struggling, but the grip was burning and pouring into him warmth and love, and if he turned just enough he knew he would see Caspian, and that his eyes would be fixed on him and full of worry.

"Does it seem to anyone else like it's rising?" Eustace said from far away. There were more voices then, but Edmund ignored them all, in favour of staring at the light below. It was rising. Tendrils detached from the pool to climb the mountain's slope, and then left it entirely, reaching towards the bridge.

Edmund tried to hold out a hand, but they were all running, hauling him along, and the light retreated, back into its bed.

"Well, that was educational," Peter said breathlessly when they found themselves at the beginning of the bridge again.

Edmund collapsed and wallowed in relief, but it was so hard when part of him wished to be torn out and to join the light below. His gripped Caspian's hand, focused on its warmth, banishing the memory into the back of his mind.

Caspian would have gone after him, he realised with dread as their eyes met. If Edmund tried again, he wouldn't even hesitate. He would just… let go.

"What now?" Eustace asked.

"What was that thing?"

"Doesn't matter right now. We must find another way out, and quickly. Aren't there other bridges?"

"All bridges are much the same," Jill said.

"And this light is underneath it all," Edmund added. The rest of the group looked at him. "It was everywhere, under every mountain, under every bridge. It's like an ocean and the mountains are very tall islands."

"Ocean of light," Lucy said dreamily. "That must be lovely."

"You didn't see it?"

"I only saw mist and flashes in it," Peter said. "Like shiny fish in dark water. Until it started rising, anyway." He seemed to be pondering something.

Edmund shuddered. "It was so queer. It was calling my name, in so far as this," he waved his hands about, trying to convey the heat and light and vibration, "could be interpreted as a word."

Too late he realised no one was following, and that he was getting some very strange looks. He must have been the only one to see then, which was rather disquieting. Usually it would be Lucy who insisted on seeing the impossible, while the rest of them tried to make sense of it. He wasn't used to that kind of attention.

"This is heartening," Peter said. "In its own strange way. We should split up."

"Peter!" Lucy cried, "Surely not!"

"Hear me out. Eustace, Jill, and Emeth, if you would take orders from me?"

"I am at your command."

"You three shall go to England, find Polly, Digory and search for Aslan, because he certainly isn't here. The rest of us shall stay and figure something out, until you return."

"Now hold on," Edmund said, or tried to. He meant to argue that he could certainly walk the distance, if assisted, and that the light was in no way malignant and furthermore it could probably be communicated with, but Peter didn't let him finish.

"You don't get a vote," Peter said. "Seeing as you cannot move two feet without having some shining monstrosity try and murder you. No offence to your wife, Caspian."

"I admire your verbal restraint," Caspian said. He had yet to loosen his grip on Edmund's hand and he was looking around wildly, with his other hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Fortunately, neither Lilliandil nor Rilian were anywhere to be seen.

"That's all very nice, and I especially admire you taking my civil rights away, just because some people want me dead, but I have to ask, what is your actual plan?"

"We need to find a safe place and wait there."

"Brilliant. That safe place would be where, exactly?"

"I have no idea yet."

"Wonderful. It will be the world's most exciting game of hide and seek, in which we run through the many layers of this land and try to evade a star, who is easily strong enough to conquer…" Edmund said and then fell quiet. There was an idea forming in the back of his mind, slowly wedging to the forefront.

"What place here could be easily fortified and easier to defend?" Peter was asking meanwhile.

"Not here," Edmund said. "There is Narnia."

"We are in Narnia."

"The other Narnia. The dead world. You had the key, didn't you?"

"It may no exist anymore," Peter said slowly, but Edmund saw in his eyes that he was considering the idea.

"It might," Lucy said then. "I remember Aslan saying that it was a place before Narnia, the world, was born, that there were spells written there in the darkness before the world existed. It might still be there."

"If it is, we shall have but one door to guard, and a whole world to hide in," Eustace said, with a sense of wonder.

"It is settled then. Eustace, Jill and Emeth go across. The rest of us out, back to the door." Peter stood up straight and stared into the distance, as though he was judging the way. "Let us hurry. We cannot risk Lilliandil catching us again."

They bade farewell to Jill, Eustace and Emeth right there, wishing them luck on their quest, but privately Edmund thought they would need it more. He watched as the three made their way down the bridge, but there was no hint that the light took interest. It remained in its bed, but he could hear its pulse now that he knew what it was. He could feel the rhythm move the land beneath his feet, like music moves the soul.

"Will they be safe?" Lucy asked tearfully.

"Eustace and Jill braved the Northern Giants and the underworld with the aid of a single Marsh-wiggle, as I understand it, and they travel to England. They will be fine," Edmund said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Don't fret. Everything will be fine."

"You dare to say that? Honestly, Edmund! At the very least try and come up with a plausible lie!"

"Well, in that case, I will probably be killed within the next three days, but otherwise I think we have nothing to fear." He earned himself a punch to the shoulder, which to be fair he deserved; what he didn't feel he earned was Lucy's tears. She clung to him, as if her embrace could ward off the danger, which was a welcome illusion. Edmund rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes.

He hoped he could spare her the sight of whatever would befall him.

"Edmund, you are bleeding!" she exclaimed, tearing herself away.

Indeed, the front of his shirt was red. "I feel fine," Edmund kept insisting, even as Lucy made him sit by the pillar of the bridge and rewrapped the wound with stripes torn off her dress.

"It seemed healed before," she said, inspecting the edges with enthusiasm Edmund had not seen in many surgeons. "It's clean. If nothing else, it should be healing. Did you pick at it?"

"Yes. With zeal. Until it bled."

"This is not amusing in the slightest. I think it is also upsetting Caspian."

"Why do you insist on knocking a man who is down already?"

"I am merely stating a fact."

"Caspian was upset consistently since this morning. I don't think I can upset him more just by sitting here and being tended to."

"Then you are a bloody fool."

This was quite possibly the most shocking thing Edmund had heard come out of Lucy's mouth to date. Not the words, as she was not shy in expressing her mind, but the hard, cold tone in which they were delivered. For the longest time he could do nothing but stare at her, open-mouthed.

"Honestly, you must think me such a child. He won't get any less upset until you are completely healed and he's had assurance you are safe from further harm. You must realise that."

Edmund did. He disliked the thought, but he was aware of it. "I think it's foolish," he said, low enough to make sure only Lucy would hear, but of course heaven worked against him, and Caspian was never fully unaware of his actions here.

"You are an idiot," Caspian said hotly. "Why is this such foolery, that I would place my happiness wholly in your hands?"

"Is the evidence not clear enough for you?"

"As touching as I find your arguments, I suggest we move forward," Peter said. "There's a long way to travel and time is working against us."

There was much wonder to be found in the nature of the wound that Rilian caused. It hadn't hampered Edmund's movements - he was quite confident he could shoot a bow as accurately as he ever did - and it didn't even hurt. He would feel a twinge, every now and then, but only if there was an abundance of fear weighing him down. He stood without trouble and kept up the pace as though there had been no wound at all. This was one of the advantages death had over living - one need not worry about the state of one's body.

Although plenty had to be re-evaluated in the face of recent events.


	5. In the New Garden in all the Parts

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER FIVE - In the New Garden in all the Parts]

Once more they journeyed through the dark Narnia of Aslan's country, hoping against hope that they wouldn't be discovered. "Peter," Lucy whispered, as they strayed from a beaten road to avoid meeting a group of fauns, who rushed past in blind panic. "Must we do this? Must we hide from everything and everyone?"

"I wish we didn't. Remember though that it isn't just anyone we are running from, but Caspian's own son, who was a king of Narnia himself, probably longer than us. Whatever advantage we may have, I'm sure he can match it."

Lucy fell silent and the march continued, seemingly unhindered, but eventually Peter stopped and declared he needed to rest awhile. They were not surprised, for tiredness was sweeping through them as well, bringing with it more fear. They had died once already; how could they tire?

"I am almost questioning your paternal skills, though of course Lilliandil did manage to shift the blame off your shoulders," Edmund said to Caspian, as they found for themselves a clearing among the trees, covered with soft grass and well-hidden from the road.

"If she didn't frighten me so, I would have felt relief as well. I tried to do right by Rilian. I would hate to have failed so spectacularly."

Lucy spied an apple tree not far from where they were sitting and rushed to collect some of its fruit. Peter lay down, his back propped against the trunk of a tree, and closed his eyes. Though they shouldn't be tired at all, Edmund saw the tension ebb away from his shoulders, as a semblance of sleep descended.

Above their heads the trees had folded their branches to form a ceiling, thick enough that even a star would be hard-pressed to see them from up high. They had bought themselves a moment of peace, hopefully long enough to catch their bearings for the rest of the journey.

"You have not failed. He is, if nothing else, an honourable man."

"Why must you defend him so gallantly? I may have been rash in wishing him dead on the spot. He is my son, and I must at least consider his position in all this. You have no such obligation. You have the right to demand his head. It is I who should beg you for his life, not the other way round."

"Perhaps it is because you won't," Edmund said. He let his head rest against Caspian's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Caspian whispered into this hair. "I knew it was wrong to marry so soon, or at all. I was still raw. I couldn't have been a pleasant company, let alone a good husband. If I had known you would suffer for it, I never would have done it."

"You did what was right. Narnia needed an heir."

"Narnia would have suffered my second cousin's daughter. She was no less capable of ruling than I was." Edmund felt a wry smile against his scalp, he ached to see it. "More, even. She was wise and she was pragmatic, I think you would have liked her well."

"I should like to meet her, when we solve this mystery." Edmund shifted. "Do you regret the marriage so badly? Surely some companionship was better than loneliness."

"I can't think about Lilliandil without anger, right now. Rilian though… He was such a dear child," Caspian said with a small smile. "I honestly thought loving another was beyond my abilities after you left, but I expect one's children are exempt from all rules."

"I have been told as much." Edmund tilted his head back and Caspian pulled him tighter against his chest, so that they could kiss. Edmund had found before that his hand would naturally seek to tangle in Caspian's hair, whether in the unconscious effort to keep them together or just because he needed reassurance that he could yank it whenever he found the once-king too annoying.

Regardless, he let himself drown in Caspian. It was the easiest, and the scariest, thing he'd ever had to learn - his mouth was sweet and soft against his, juxtaposed against the scratch of beard, the scent of salt and ocean wind that seemed to cling to his flesh, always fresh and always dangerous.

Edmund felt heat crawl up his belly, as he tilted Caspian's head and mouthed at his neck, just over the collar of his shirt, where his pulse beat strongest.

"You'd think the lack of door to be latched would discourage you," Lucy said, somewhere over their heads. Edmund dared to look at her face, which was shining with amusement and gentle love, but couldn't stand to hold her gaze for long. He looked at her hands instead, and the fruit she carried. "Here. They aren't very good though." The apples were small and Edmund thought more like the apples he had in England than anything that could be found in heaven.

"I was taught it is rude to interrupt," Caspian said peevishly, still lying flat on the forest floor, but of course he was such a child when denied anything at all. There were twigs and dried leaves in his hair, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek.

"Oh, I don't really mind, you are both very pleasant to look at, but I was about to wake Peter and he might kill you."

"Lucy!"

She laughed merrily, a laugh that Edmund had missed the past few hours. It was as though he remembered all of sudden there was still hope in the world and that they might well be all right in the end.

"Why are you so happy?"

"There's a stream by the tree. Can you hear it? It still remembers. It still laughs."

"That it good news!"

"Now, make yourselves decent. You know how he is."

Caspian rolled his eyes but sat up and made a show out of straightening his tunic. "I could tie him to the tree," he suggested quietly. "We should have some peace then."

"You would tie up my own brother to ravish me in his line of sight? How in the world is that a good idea?"

"I'm tempted to do it just to see the look on his face."

"Fiend."

"Ah, indeed. Wouldn't his expression be grand?"

Edmund bit down on his knuckle to avoid laughing. Encouraging Caspian when he was being devious was never a good thing; he'd found that out already. "What is it about Peter that irritates you so?" he asked as Caspian set out to adjust the collar of his shirt.

"He is your brother and you love him."

"I don't follow."

"I'm not much good at sharing, which I'm sure you have figured out already. I imagine there must be some competition between us, for your affection."

"Surely you jest."

"No, I am perfectly serious. Eustace explained it to me."

"Oh lord."

"As I understand it, because we were both kings, and therefore accustomed to having our will done, your favour is naturally considered another battlefield to be conquered. Because he's your older brother, he naturally expects your worship of him to continue; because you are mine, I expect you to look at no one else. So we fight."

"Ah. Now I must wonder which of you I ought to kill first. I trust that was also explained?" Edmund thought he ought to be offended, but the mere idea of being fought over in this fashion was enough to send him into peals of laughter so severe, he saw Caspian abandon the pretence of seriousness and laugh as well.

"Eustace said you might consider it amusing."

"It is hilarious." It did not, however, explain the devilish glint in Caspian's eye. "Did you share the revelations with Peter?" Strange that he hadn't known of this, but then again, he did prefer to focus elsewhere when Caspian and Peter had their spats. He knew enough swear words; he didn't need to expand his vocabulary.

"Oh yes."

"How did he react?"

"Do you remember the time when I stumbled into our chamber bloodied and bruised, yet choking with laughter?"

"I might have guessed. I don't think it was fair, that he would humiliate you so severely."

"Why do you assume I lost?"

"Just naturally came to me, remembering the state of you."

"He looked no better. It was all in good fun."

"I know a sword mark when I see one. I have also seen mace damage and I am fairly certain there was an arrow-wound in there too."

"Oh, he was quite annoyed, I grant you," Caspian stretched and grinned with the smug grin of a cat that set out to catch the mouse and had not only managed to toy with it until the last possible minute, but was also awarded a cup of cream for his trouble. "The truth is a harsh mistress. But to be fair the most damage I took only after I started telling him how you like to be kissed."

"You are a demon in human form, did you know that?"

"I am very proud." Caspian never stopped smiling, a bright devil-may-care grin that on a monarch would cause his subjects to flee in panic, but on a man it was nearly irresistible.

"And what, pray-tell, is so hilarious?" Peter asked. Edmund realised that his brother was watching them with a deeply suspicious gaze, as he often did when Caspian and he were standing too close together. It was always funny - it had been funny back in England, when Peter was introduced to Jane and regarded her with the gaze a mother bear directs at any threat to her cubs. Here, with Caspian sitting so close Edmund could feel the heat of his body through the clothes, with the words about the contests and rivalry still ringing in his ears, Edmund thought it was hysterical.

"Are you rested?" Edmund asked instead, forcing down the laugh. "You don't look well."

"This mess is weighing on me." Peter rubbed his forehead. Absentmindedly, he picked up an apple and bit into it. "These are quite horrible."

"They are no worse than the apples at boarding school."

"Exactly what I meant."

"How much further do you think we have to go?"

"I don't know. How far did we run to get to the garden the last time?"

"Hours?" Edmund said doubtfully, though it might as well have been minutes or days. There had been no clock to measure it with. They hadn't been tired and they hadn't been hungry; there had been no need to pause for breath and no need to measure time, either.

"See, I have no idea either. I don't like this much, we are running blind."

There was no wind. The forest was silent, curiously so, but for the rustle among the top branches that sounded suspiciously like bullets. Edmund tried to spring up, then he remembered it was better to stay down, so in his confusion he ended up on his knees, but it was just rain; thick, heavy rain, cold as ice. The storm was finally upon them.

"That doesn't inspire confidence," he said, still gazing at the leaden sky.

"It's cold," Lucy said, and shuddered.

"That's no good," Peter said grimly. At the questioning gazes he shook his head and wrapped an arm around Lucy. "The old Narnia was frozen. We need warm clothes, we need fire."

"What for? It's not like we can die," Edmund said.

"Well, then, either Lilliandil knows something we don't, or your eventual fate will be even more gruesome than we have anticipated."

Edmund hadn't thought of that. "That is certainly odd to consider," he said lightly, but his head was spinning. Rilian's face appeared in his mind's eye, pale and frightened and smeared with blood, followed by a weak memory of the unimaginable horror of having someone touch his heart. There was no way Rilian had been planning on leaving him alive then.

"Ed?"

"I'm fine."

The air moved. High above them there was a screech and a whoosh and then a streak of fire burned across the clouds. Edmund saw - or thought he saw - a sleek, dark shape disappear into the clouds, far above their heads.

"That cannot be good," he said.

"Sudden bursts of fire rarely are."

Edmund stared at the smoke, which was thick enough to be riddled with holes by the rain. "It's a dragon. A big one."

"I kept wondering along the way, are there more troubles, is there anything that hasn't yet gone wrong, and here, at last, is my answer," Peter said. "Well. Dragons or no dragons, we are going through."

"This would be a bad time to say I can no longer call for that which we need," Lucy said. She shivered in Peter's embrace. "This land no longer calls to me. There are no voices in the trees. It is cold and empty."

"We must go," Peter said forcefully, though Lucy's words weighed heavily on him. What could it mean, Edmund wondered, that Aslan's country, or at least part of it, was falling apart?

They moved through the forest, silent as ghosts. The trees drooped under the onslaught of the rain; some of the weaker branches had broken, and that was fine - whatever noise they made had to be muffled by the rain. Edmund felt the drops hit his head and shoulders hard enough to bruise. He was soaked within minutes and the rain just kept pouring, as though it wished to seep through his skin and fill him with icy water instead of blood.

Now and then a cry would split the sky and they would see a shadow above them, ruffling the crowns of trees, only to disappear among the clouds again. There was more than one, they soon realised. They never saw the big one again, but there were at least three smaller ones to take its place, and these never wandered far.

"I see the edge of the forest," Edmund said. He dreaded it. He couldn't shake the feeling that the dragons were searching for something, and what they were searching for was him.

"I won't let them take you," Caspian said, once more earning himself a glare for reading Edmund's mind.

"Which is one of my many fears."

"What would they do with you, anyway? You're puny. You're no meal at all. You're not a virgin, unless I have been grossly misinformed."

"Yes, I wondered when was that going to be mentioned. Except if that is the case, they are most certainly looking for Lucy," Edmund said, for once humourlessly and even Caspian had to become serious.

"Would you stop talking?" Lucy hissed. "Don't we have actual problems?"

"Pity Eustace isn't with us," Caspian said. "Maybe he could talk to them."

"I know."

The trees thinned and they stood at the edge of the forest, looking out onto the stretch of naked ground spread before them. "We are going to be visible for miles," Lucy said doubtfully.

"We have to cross the plains at some time." Peter gauged the distance, scanned the horizon in both directions. "Or, we could go right, through the forest. We should be able to reach the river that way. There would be still the open ground to cover, but hopefully less, and we could swim down to the cauldron and beyond. We might be harder to spot in the water."

"Do let's! At the least the water still seems friendly," Lucy said.

They retreated into the forest and turned to the right. The river was still far away, but the rest had given them strength, if not hope, even though the journey was harrowing. Edmund felt it, along with the rain, stripped away whatever warmth he still possessed, leaving behind only that between his and Caspian's joined hands.

Fortunately, as they reached the place where they had to leave the forest, the rain stopped. Edmund sighed in relief, but it was only a relief for a few moments. Soon the wind brought a smell of smoke and particles of ash that clung to the skin and irritated the eyes. Within minutes they were all coughing and their eyes were red and wet with tears.

The river seemed as unattainable as the moon at that moment.

Then, something even worse happened. There was little light to begin with, as the sun seemed permanently blocked by clouds, but it seemed to Edmund that they were walking in shadows too pronounced to be caused by clouds alone. He only had time to experience a jolt of panic before there was the scream and a dragon descended upon them, beating its wings against the ground.

As one, the four of them jumped to the side and drew their swords.

The dragon was strange, Edmund thought, as it lunged at Lucy. It looked nothing like Eustace had looked. It was long, much like a snake, and its gaping maw was full of teeth not unlike those of a sea serpent. The scales on its skin were a dull black, though when the flames shot through the air the reflection on their edges was green like poison. The creature was winged, but the wings were torn in places, or had holes burned through them. Some were still smoking.

Lucy danced away from the streak of fire and slashed deeply at the dragon's forepaw, drawing blood, thick and foul like tar. Peter was there to take her place immediately, delivering a crushing blow to the creature's neck. It wasn't enough to kill it, but the creature staggered away, wailing pitifully. It veered left, narrowly avoided Caspian's sword (which took off one of its wings, instead of the head) and stood on its hind legs directly in front of Edmund.

It paused, mid-roar, and gazed upon him with such a look as he'd never seen on anything living. It twisted to avoid him, but it was too late - the wound in its neck was bleeding profusely, and it took barely a twist of the sword for Edmund to take its head off.

"Well," he said, resting the darkened blade on his shoulder. "At least this is working to my advantage."

"It is high time something did," Caspian said. "What is this thing? It is not like any dragon I have ever seen or heard of."

But before anyone could think of a reply, there was screeching in the air and shadows whirled over their heads.

"To the forest," Peter shouted and they ran.

Edmund dared to look up and immediately wished he hadn't. The sky was dark with creatures, some of them like the dragons they just slew, some of them feathered, some of them shining with moisture that wasn't water, for it stuck to their bodies in clumps. The scent of decay was about them - even when they sped through the air, it followed.

Fortunately for them, the creatures were preoccupied with the body of the killed dragon. Edmund didn't bother looking any more; his mind could paint the scene vividly enough. There was growling and grinding and that alone told him that the carcass was being pulled apart by strong teeth. Then came the crunch of bones being crushed between the creatures' jaws, and over that the howling and screeches of wilder beasts fighting for a place at the table.

The forest was before them, just out of reach, when the noises of the feast ceased and instead the flapping of wings filled the air. Edmund felt his heart stop in terror. The dragons had finished and were now taking to the sky, and there was still a hundred yards to go before they reached the shelter of the trees.

"We cannot fight this many!" he yelled, when Peter made a move like he wished to turn and face them head on.

"I have no intention of us fighting," he yelled back, but Edmund was ahead of him. Peter's instincts were ridiculously easy to predict and counter. Within seconds Lucy had stolen the sword out of his hands and they had both latched onto his arms, so as to prevent unnecessary heroics. In the back of his head, Edmund considered. The dragon had been afraid of him. It attacked Lucy and Peter and Caspian, but not him. It didn't take a genius to figure out a plan, simple as it was.

As it turned out, he needn't have implemented any heroics either, as the moment the thought of turning back to fight alone had risen in his mind, there emerged a bright light in front of them and a voice - he recognised the voice, somehow - called out a few strange words.

The noise behind them died down. Edmund and the rest were face to face with a magician.

"Coriakin," Lucy said breathlessly.

The elderly man bowed. "Indeed, my dear. Follow me."

They spared a second to share a look, after which they followed. Coriakin was standing by two pines, which grew so close together they were almost a doorway. He beckoned them forward and as they approached they saw that the impression was correct: between their trunks there was a door, invisible up to this point, and beyond Edmund saw a living room, with fire buzzing in the fire place and steam wafting from a kettle on the table.

"Come, you must be cold. Help yourselves to some tea and chocolate. I will see to it that there's food on the table. There are blankets in the wardrobe, and if you wish to take a hot bath, I will have your clothes dried."

A hot bath sounded heavenly right about now, Edmund thought, but as pneumonia was not a concern, there were more pressing issues to address.

"What were those things?" Edmund asked, catching a blanket Peter threw at him. "They looked like dragons."

"They are not the type of creatures which have names," Coriakin said. "They are born out of the corruption that remained in the dead world. Make no mistake, they were there all the while - in fact I do believe you faced one already."

Edmund sat up. "Is it the same kind of creature as the sea serpent?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. You must understand that it takes a lot for the corruption to assume a form that can be fought with swords. It has no mind of its own, it can only glean from others, be moved by sentient creatures' will and presence. Normally it would have no place in Aslan's country, but when the barriers were broken, it invaded, as corruption does." Coriakin looked into his own teacup, somewhat wistfully. "It needs no carrier to cross; all it takes is an invitation."

"We should warn the others," Lucy said, cradling a mug of chocolate in her hands. "Eustace and Jill and Emeth. They went to the other place, to England, they must be warned!"

"Worry not. These creatures are not yet so strong as to cross the bridge. I doubt they ever would be."

"So they would be safe, on the other mountain?"

"As far as I can tell, it is only this land that suffered, for its connection with the dead world. Regardless, this is more than a mere place that needs guarding. The mountain will be protected from all sides," Coriakin said. "Not to fret, my dear. Other worlds shall be quite safe."

"You know what is going on," Peter stated, setting his cup aside.

"I do." Coriakin sat down heavily. He looked terribly old just then, pale and worn so thin as to be almost transparent. "I am, or should I say I was, a star, once. This unfortunately burdens a man with more knowledge than a mind should have to handle, or could rightfully handle. I wish it weren't so."

Edmund focussed on the cup in his hands. There was a question to be asked, a word he was missing, something. He couldn't quite work out what it was.

"Is it safe here?" Peter looked around. "This looks like a room, not a fortress."

"We would certainly be quite safe here, at least until Lilliandil locates you. Which, I am sorry to say, won't take her long. A few days is the most you can hope for, and she will know no rest until you are found."

"Can't we do something?" Caspian said forcefully. "She must be stopped!"

"You will find it a task beyond your strength, son of Adam."

"What does she want, precisely?" Edmund asked. He set the cup aside. "I could understand revenge, at least somewhat, but there is no logic to it - she does not seem to be someone eager to be avenged, for whatever slight, much less for infidelity."

"She is not. She is something far more dangerous: a mother, anxious for her child's well being."

"You will have to speak more clearly. I am no threat to Rilian," Edmund said. "At least to the best of my knowledge."

"Were you a direct threat, you would have been dead by now. No, the matter here is unfortunately more complex." Coriakin folded his hands together. "You see, stars have no souls. We are creatures of light. Light is our purpose and our life, and when the light dies, so do we, never to live again. Our time can be prolonged indefinitely, but there arrives such a moment when we burn out at last, and there is nothing left to show for our existence but a handful of dust. It is not like that with you, children of Adam and Eve. What you have at your core, that lasts forever. A thousand years would pass a thousand times, and yet the essence of you remains untarnished.

"Now, you ask why Lilliandil wishes to destroy you. Young Rilian is the first child in history to be borne by a star, and as such he is more star than he is human, and has no soul of his own. Lilliandil intends for him to be given one."

There was silence.

"I have to ask," Edmund said slowly, "How would destroying me, as you said, help Rilian receive a soul?"

"Ah, here lies the heart of the matter: it is not your soul that she wants, but the one that was promised her and through her to her son, for it is only the soul that is willingly given that has any value."

In the long silence everyone turned to look at Caspian. "I don't recall making any such promises."

"You wed her, under the laws of your people." Coriakin picked up a book, flipped a few pages. "Ah yes. You would have sworn, under the custom, to share in the earthly life together, and to be as one mind, body and soul, unto death. 'My heart must then be thine,' to wit. Magic is inherent in such promises. Your soul was forfeit that day and it would have been taken from you and given to your son."

Now Edmund understood the anger that drove Caspian to strike at Lilliandil the moment she revealed it was her who had orchestrated the attack. A cold fury had taken him, so dark and encompassing that he could scarcely speak a word. He had been amicable to Lilliandil's plight; up until this moment, he had striven to find exonerating circumstances for Rilian's sake, but this would make any monstrous deed pale in comparison.

"Something had gone wrong," Peter said. "Here we are, all dead, I presume still ensouled, and still she pursues Edmund."

"Exactly! Forgive me the interruption, but you said until death, did you not? The vows are 'until death do us part'," Lucy twirled her fingers together. "How come it is still an issue, when they are all dead?"

"Marriage, yes. Promises, not necessarily."

"You will speak more clearly," Edmund commanded darkly.

"Rilian is your child, Caspian, and as Lilliandil knowingly bequeathed all that she could stand to gain from you on him, he became the beneficiary of your vow, so to speak. This is why the promise held: a child you cannot deny, in life or death."

Edmund clenched his teeth. "It would seem I was wrong to long for Narnia and her lack of lawyers when I was in England. A fine deal she has penned, one that any legal mind cannot help but applaud. What went wrong, then, when it was all so meticulously planned?"

"Indeed, something went astray, and it doesn't take much to figure out that the something was you," Coriakin said, looking at Edmund. "I find it hard to speculate on the nature of relationships, but from the evidence I must conclude that it is your claim on the king's soul that prevented the finalisation of the plan."

"That's ridiculous," Edmund said stiffly. "You speak of marriage, and oaths, and there was certainly nothing of the sort between us."

"Dear boy. There is no easy way to wreck such magic as promising one's heart to another, and the only way it could have gone wrong, was if Caspian had made a similar promise before, as even the strongest spell cannot undo what has already been done. This is why Lilliandil failed."

"I'm sure I would have remembered getting married! I might have been drunk a few times in my life, but I pride myself on recalling each occasion perfectly. The marital practices of Narnia are not quite so simple, that we could have done them by accident. There would have needed to be a third party present, to witness the exchange of vows, and that is discounting the fact that for a king to wed there are extra ceremonies to perform, else the marriage is void!" Edmund pressed his forefingers against his forehead. This made no sense! "And on top of the legal obstacles, let us remember that we are both men, and therefore there could have been no marriage to begin with."

"You promised you would wait for me," Caspian said in the silence that followed Edmund's outburst. "Even after I died. You swore, remember? A lifetime, you said, and beyond the lifetime."

Edmund closed his eyes. He remembered the promise. He didn't recall there being any sort of legal obligation, any kind of contract, however. He recalled nothing but the foolish assurances of two boys, caught up in feelings they couldn't fully comprehend.

Coriakin smiled, but it was a sad smile. "That you chose to promise a lifetime and beyond would have been quite enough. Such a promise between two people needs no contract to confirm it, nor does it need witnesses nor validation."

"I wasn't aware it would be legally binding," Edmund said, looking stubbornly at the wall and not at Caspian, who surely frowned at him.

"I wouldn't call it legally binding. Not unless it was sanctioned by a contract of some sort, or witnessed, as you said, and even then the legality would be dubious, as neither of you is a woman and Caspian was king at the time, and far as I recall a Narnian king cannot wed until his spouse is accepted by his court."

"Thank you, Pete. As usual, your input is most useful."

"I think it's sweet," Lucy said, looking between Edmund and Caspian with a dreamy expression. She was always such romantic, with her head full of tales of valour and truth. "A little sad for poor Rilian, mind. Can't there be another way?"

"Dear child, were we all so hopeful as you. Souls are precious, much more so than you could ever understand. No, there is but one way for a creature without a soul to obtain one: it is through genuine love, an honest promise and a gift."

"Then I must say, I have spotted the fatal flaw in the plan," Caspian said. "Now to explain this to the lady, and there may well be peace again."

Peter looked at him strangely. "You think she would relent?"

"I did not love her like I'm sure I needed to, for the promise to achieve her ends. The effort is moot. I'm certain no law would force me to give up my soul to honour a promise when I had no idea it was at stake."

But Coriakin was shaking his head. "Child, there is much you still don't understand. Lilliandil is powerful. She is capable of spinning the magic in such a way that your promise would hold, regardless of feelings."

"She failed there."

"She cannot touch you, unless the claim on your soul is relinquished."

Edmund closed his eyes. That did make sense, in the most twisted way he would conceive of. The threads of the trap unravelled in his mind and he had no choice but to marvel at their intricate beauty, at the skill and infallible plan that wound them into a fabric. It was sheer beauty.

"There is still the matter of Rilian," Lucy said.

Edmund found he cared little for Rilian and even less for Lilliandil, when his mind supplied the image (however overstated and false it was) of Caspian lying soulless and yet still living, of nothingness in his eyes, and found the vision draining the scant supply of mercy he had at his disposal. "How do you kill a star?"

"Edmund!"

"Unless anyone has a better plan, which I'm willing to consider. At this point, however, I find this information vital to our future conduct."

"Well, now that we know my head is also on the line, clearly killing is the only way to go," Caspian said, glaring at Edmund fiercely. "A pity you failed to consider that this morning, we would have been done with the mess already."

"How is that pertinent?"

"For one so adept at diplomacy, you are quite the blind idiot." Caspian stood up, dropping the blanket on the sofa. He turned to Coriakin, "I heard you mention a hot bath?"

"There's a bathroom through those door. It ought to be ready. I should have clothes prepared for you, when you are done, and a bed. I regret that I cannot do more, but give you a safe place to spend the night. There are geas binding me not to assist against my kin."

"We are thankful," Peter said. "You may rest assured we will ask no more of you."

Caspian strode through the bathroom door without looking back. Coriakin disappeared through one of the many doors, through which Edmund could see a sparsely decorated bedroom, presumably to work his magic in solitude.

"I think I'd better talk to him," Lucy said, getting up to follow in Caspian's footsteps.

Edmund ignored her departure and poured himself another cup of chocolate. His hand was shaking. He could withstand hatred. He would have stood the disdain and even revenge from Caspian's queen; he could understand it's cause. But to trick a man into marriage when its intent was to destroy him, that he couldn't forgive.

"This doesn't concern you at all?" Peter asked meanwhile, stealing the mug from his hands.

"What cause for concern is there?"

"That your sister just followed your lover into a bathroom?"

"On whose behalf should I be outraged?"

"Good question." Peter considered, then shook his head, abandoning the train of thought. "I have to say, this is quite the novelty: seeing Caspian furious at you for a change."

"He is being a moron."

"He is worried about you."

"So are you, and you are not storming off in a huff."

"I wanted to, but I think I've outgrown that phase." Peter considered the ceiling, which was a web of wood and reliefs, made to look like the roof of the forest on a sunny day. "I know what you're thinking," he said.

"I doubt it."

Peter looked away from the ceiling, to stare at Edmund. "You are worried you did something wrong, which is all you ever think about, when something goes wrong. Specifically that you were wrong about Caspian."

This was not exactly what Edmund was thinking. "Wherever did you get such an idea?" he asked.

"Because I am your older brother, and by definition I know all there is to know about you."

"I very much doubt that."

"I know that you are wrong about this."

Edmund closed his eyes. "I thought I might be." Because somewhere deep there was the thought that, after all, Caspian would have met the star and were it not for him, he might have loved her; he would love her. And they would have wed without this promise tearing them apart and then, perhaps, Lilliandil would have loved him without jealousy poisoning the love, and their marriage would somehow work out.

"I mean your thoughts are wrong. Much as it pains me, you and Caspian, that is right."

"From what facts do you draw this conclusion?"

Peter said nothing. He leaned forward, however, and before Edmund knew it there was a hand touching his cheek. Something lurched within him and he struck the hand away, scrambling to the very end of the sofa. "There it is. You flinch at Lucy's touch, you damn near leap away from mine, but Caspian's you welcome."

"That is supposed to prove something?"

"Ed… Please don't be an idiot. I don't think we have time for it presently."

"I ruined his marriage, his life," Edmund said. "Without me, he might well have married a woman he genuinely liked, instead of a star he promised he would, just because he promised. Without me, he would have been happier."

"Without you, he would have been an empty shell," Peter said. "I'm not trying to be romantic, mind. If what Coriakin said is true, you saved him from having his soul stolen. I imagine that has more worth than a few dozen years of a successful marriage."

"He might well have escaped the peril before he was even placed in its way, were it not for me." Edmund sighed. "He swore he would wed a star, when Aslan told us we couldn't be together."

Peter bit his lip and then delivered a sharp jab to Edmund's side. "That's for being an idiot."

"Again?"

"You are an idiot if you think he'd be happier without you. These are, for the record, my final words on the subject, and if Caspian ever finds out, I will deny ever having said them."

"What have you got against him, anyway?"

Peter grinned brightly. "I find your taste in companions questionable, that's all. I believe that is my right as your brother."

"Excuse me?"

"You seem to gravitate towards arrogance and imperiousness. I often wonder why. Does it amuse you when they try to rule you?"

"You can't be serious. Caspian doesn't rule me, and neither did Jane."

"If Caspian wasn't enough to prove my point, you bring up Jane." A shadow crossed Peter's face and Edmund knew that he hadn't thought of her previously.

"She's a sweet person!"

"Clearly, you have utterly failed to speak with her. Which is not a surprise, seeing as she is certainly very attractive, but I never figured you for such shallow a person. Then again, Caspian is pleasing to the eye, so maybe there is that to consider."

Edmund found he could do no more than open his mouth and wait for rebuttals to fill his head. He disregarded those pertaining to Caspian's looks - he did not wish to consider that Peter found Caspian handsome - and focussed on the part he felt his mind didn't rebel at. "Of course I've spoken with her. Many times!"

"And you never noticed that your opinions differ?"

"Yes, plenty. Then we have something that is called a civilised conversation and exchange ideas. You should try it sometime."

"Can't." Peter sighed theatrically and sank into the cushions. "I am the high king and so most people agree with me, meaning there's no hope of a sporting argument there, and you would just talk me into a corner and leave, feeling smug. Arguing with Lucy usually comes down to me having my way, then her sighing and fixing the mess I made."

"I feel so bad for you," Edmund told him with a smirk.

"I'm glad, because you will realise, in a moment, that for once I have won the argument."

"Are we done?"

"Yes, we are done." Peter leaned towards Edmund once more, this time to ruffle his hair. "Be less of an idiot, little brother."

"Be less of an ass, High King."


	6. I Dream'd in a Dream

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER SIX - I Dream'd in a Dream]

Edmund opened the bathroom door expecting to find Caspian and Lucy conversing about some secret matter, over a bubble bath, likely drawing lots for who would be the first to use it. Instead he found them submerged in a steaming, emerald pool, which made him recall the hot springs of Archenland from Narnia's golden age.

"Edmund!" Lucy called joyfully. "Come on in, the water is wonderful."

"I can see that."

"I'm done, but you are welcome to take all the time you need," she said, standing up.

Edmund nearly tripped in attempting to avert his eyes, first from Lucy's naked body, then from Caspian's face. Then it proved to be confusing, so he closed his eyes and ceased moving. "Please tell me you're decent, Lu."

"I'm always decent."

"Walking naked out of a bath in the presence of men is not what most people would describe as decent."

"No, running out of a bath into a crowded room naked wouldn't be decent," Lucy said.

Edmund dared to open an eye. He was relieved when he found her securely wrapped in a large, fluffy towel.

"Besides, you two don't count as men."

"You know, I think that merits a challenge."

Lucy laughed. "Oh, you know what I mean."

"Yes. Thank you. Now go."

"Of course." She went, locking the door behind her. "Key's under the door!" she yelled from the other side.

"I hate my family."

"I hate her family too."

"Do shut up," Edmund said, casually peeling the shirt off his back. It was moist, and stiff, as though the rain had been cold enough to freeze it solid. The bandages on his chest were no better. They gave him a moment's pause, but beneath the bandages the wound was a narrow, red mark, not quite healed, but closed.

Edmund entertained the notion of having to wring himself like a damp rag, should the wound open underwater, but decided not to bother with it. He was in no danger of bleeding to death, which was a small mercy, and Coriakin, being a wizard, should have some healing magic handy. "Would you look away please?"

"No." Caspian folded his arms on the edge of the pool, rested his chin atop them, and stared up at Edmund. It was small consolation to have him fixate on the scar when Edmund shed his clothes, but it was something.

"Peter tells me I was being unfair," Edmund started, when the hot water enveloped him and drove the last of the cold rain out of his bones.

"This is why Peter is useful to have around. Sometimes."

"As opposed to you, who is useful to have around never."

"I'm always useful to have around," Caspian whispered, directly into Edmund's ear. Fingers skimmed the mark on Edmund's chest, inciting a flutter of sparks within, as though something infinitely soft and gentle reached into his chest to stroke his heart. "Dare to deny it."

Edmund didn't. "Caspian…"

"You are being unfair. You are an idiot. You are missing things that are obvious."

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then why do you insist on devaluing what I feel for you?" Edmund frowned, but Caspian didn't let him speak. "Do you think I would be sad if I should lose you? Do you think I would be hurt?"

"I do, yes."

"Then you are wrong. Ed- honestly. If what Coriakin says is true and a promise whispered in the throes of passion, ages ago, when we were but boys, is strong enough to rival the magic of a star, is still strong enough to keep us together in death, how do you think I would feel if I lost you?"

Edmund found no reply, though whether it was because the argument was compelling, or because Caspian was looking at him as though he wished to convey the untold misery that would become his life, he wasn't sure. He wanted to say a hundred things - that the promise made was honest, when the marital vow was not; that the affection was strong and true, but this was heaven, it was bound to enhance what they felt. That perhaps it was wishful thinking that led them to this place; that they spent their lives remembering a friendship and love that, through the virtue of being doomed from the start, grew in their minds so no other could rival it.

Fortunately Caspian pulled him underwater just then, to the bottom of the pool. They kissed and reason evaporated. Edmund might have forgotten how to feel, then, surrounded by water, and light, and Caspian, or he was nothing but feeling. He was the water against his own skin, bubbles of air escaping his lips, Caspian's hands in his hair, Caspian's hard body against his, Caspian and him, and warmth, and nothing whatsoever in the universe but the two of them, tangled in liquid emerald.

When they surfaced, Edmund discovered he was terrified. Just as he had known on the bridge that should he fall Caspian would follow, he knew now that the promise was irreversible, and that there was no recovery for either of them.

"I can't think any other way," he said. "Sorry."

Caspian smiled at him tenderly, brushed the wet hair out of his eyes. "I know," he said softly and the smile, the radiance of his eyes, was such that Edmund found himself stripped of all but the want and need. How could he ever live without Caspian, he wondered as he rested his forehead against Caspian's collarbone and breathed him in. His fingers skimmed the edge of the water, brushing against Caspian's chest. Edmund pressed his lips to the place where his fingers had been, flicking his tongue at the skin, already made sensitive by the heat of the water.

It was gratifying to hear a moan, feel the shudder that accompanied it.

In the old days, this had been the power that he exuded over his lovers. It had been a game, a test, a learning experience, very rarely fun. He learned so much by watching people come undone at his hands, while he retained a clear head, even when the pleasure had been overwhelming.

It was so different with Caspian. He felt he was just as lost as those others must have been, because the control was never fully his. He could have walked away from anyone, leave them begging and desperate, just leave, and not look back. With Caspian the need to touch was as strong as the need to be touched in return. He couldn't even contemplate leaving, no matter the price he would have to pay. He understood now, truly, what it meant to put his life in another's hands, something that had eluded him previously.

They tried to remain standing, but sheer enthusiasm kept toppling them over and this, too, was fine, when there was no worry about running out of breath, or even needing to breathe. Edmund smiled. Caspian's hand was in his hair, the other trailing everywhere he could reach, but that was fair, when Edmund himself couldn't decide where he wanted - where he ineeded/i - to touch and be touched.

There was wonder and terror and love and fear and with the terror there had to be a little bit of hate, because Edmund hated this, hated being out of control, hated feeling like he was drowning and losing himself, even when it was by his own choice, even if it was to Caspian, even if he could no longer live without having this.

Coriakin was a gracious host, but with each hour spent in his home the tension grew exponentially. By the morning after their arrival tempers were flaring.

"There must be somewhere to go," Peter said, after Lucy succinctly ended Caspian's diatribe against womenfolk, by insulting his parentage. "Anything at all. Let us hunt dragons, even."

"I concur," Edmund said. He chose to remain mostly silent. Something still nagged at him, though he couldn't put his finger on it. Lilliandil's zeal was understandable and he would take the chance to destroy her, should he get one (surely Rilian would balk from taking two lives without his mother to guide him through it), but there seemed to be a piece missing from the tale.

"We'll be having company," Coriakin said then. He spent little time away from his crystal ball. "Soon."

All present shot to their feet. "Is it Lilliandil?"

"No, not her. Your friends, instead - I recognise Eustace, and he is accompanied by a young lady and a dark-faced man."

"They are fine then!" Lucy said, clapping her hands in glee. "That is wonderful!"

"When will they arrive?"

"Within the hour, though they must be welcomed outside, otherwise they will walk right past here."

"I shall go," Edmund said immediately.

"No," Caspian and Peter said in unison.

"I would thank you not to make an invalid of me. I am perfectly capable of walking, and I didn't say I need to go alone."

"It is better to play it safe," Peter said.

"Safe? We are speaking about venturing outside for ten minutes, while our friend the magicians looks to it that we are not surprised by actual peril, unless I'm much mistaken!"

Coriakin laughed at that. "Such assistance as I can, I will provide. A fair warning you can count on."

"There is your hideous bad luck to consider," Caspian pointed out, sensibly, in an unwelcome change from his usual hot-headed demeanour. "You have been attacked by everything that crossed our path since last morning."

Edmund wondered at that, for the dragon clearly did not intend to attack him. It wasn't possible that he was the only one to notice, was it? "That is hardly fair," he said meanwhile. "Neither Jill nor Emeth had done nothing to indicate they were against me as well, unless I am even less liked than I anticipated."

"Certainly you have no friends among his family," Peter said, indicating Caspian.

"Possibly because the only member of my family Edmund has had the pleasure of meeting was my uncle, who counted very few among his friends and would kill them all regardless, were it to his advantage."

"Caspian, denial is said not to be healthy for the mind. I wish you would confront reality now and then."

This went on for some time. Edmund retreated into the corner to observe as his brother and Caspian exchanged pleasantries. This never ceased to amuse him, how much genuine (though exasperated) affection and mutual respect they had to battle to stand against one another delivering insult after insult.

He wondered how would anyone even bother with television, when they could have such entertainment available in colour and with much better reception.

Coriakin approached, taking great care to choose a seat next to Edmund, but no so close that there would be danger of physical contact. A fat kettle of hot tea drifted their way, following the magician. Behind it trailed cups and a plateful of biscuits.

"Thank you," Edmund said, raising a freshly poured cup to his lips.

"You know why the dragon avoided you," Coriakin said quietly.

"I can wager a guess," Edmund said.

"I mustn't speak too much. I'm sorry. You must remember, however, that what happened to you is unnatural, and wrong. There shall be many creatures that would avoid your touch."

Edmund turned to the arguing pair in the middle of the room. "They don't."

"They are not threatened by it."

"Yet you are."

Coriakin started and shook his head. "Aye. I am. You must forgive me for the distance. I speak to you in warning, too. It is important that you not press the issue, if you stand against a creature that recoils from you, for were you to break, you would be destroyed along with the one who did the breaking."

"Can it be healed?"

"Not here, certainly not now. Maybe, were the country whole again… But I dare not speculate on the matter. Souls are foreign to me."

Edmund closed his eyes and let his mind drift. "What Rilian did - what he tried to do. Was it safe for him?"

"I can say little. He is a strange creature to me, stranger even than he is to you. Although he has no soul, he has a human heart, and that is to me inexplicable, for I was taught that the heart and the soul of a living creature are one. He feels, that much is certain. He feels not with the cold affinity of the stars, but with the passion and mindless zeal that is so characteristic of your species."

"How else but 'mindless zeal' would you describe Lilliandil's actions, I wonder."

"She is a mother," Coriakin said again and Edmund had it in mind to protest, for Lilliandil's actions went beyond what most mothers he'd met would do, but he refrained from voicing his doubts. Coriakin had the air of a man who speaks the words he doesn't fully understand, because he feels that it is the only explanation, even though he cannot fully comprehend it himself.

"In many ways Rilian is stronger than a star would be. He stands to be here without consequences, when myself and Lilliandil die a little for every day we spend in your heaven."

Edmund looked to him in horror. "Surely not!"

"This is quite true, unfortunately. This is not a place meant for the stars - we are as shadows in the land of fire. Lilliandil is here, because she had chosen the human life and must therefore see it to the end, though through what magic she was delivered here, I cannot tell. Rilian… your guess is as good as mine."

"Why are you here?"

"Punishment," the magician said wryly. "It is not for me to tell why."

"Well, for whom is to tell, then?" Edmund asked with a quirk of his brow.

Coriakin laughed, avoiding the question altogether.

Before them, Peter and Caspian progressed to the geographical stage of their fight: to insults overheard on markets and streets of the foreign lands they have both visited in their time. They would usually start this stage in the fish markets of Beruna, then proceed to Archenland and from there to Calormen's crowded alleys. The progression was always linear, and always unanimous, as though it was important to use only the epithets that matched the chosen region.

"You both realise that Lucy went out ten minutes ago, right?" Edmund said casually, interrupting a carefully woven string of elaborate metaphors that would bring shame to the dirtiest lowlife of a slavers' den.

"She wouldn't have!" Peter said.

"Shows the respect you get among your consorts." Caspian folded his hands across his chest.

"At least none of mine wish to kill me."

"They prefer to pretend you aren't there, instead."

"I confess, I often wondered about there being two kings, ruling side by side, even with queens to balance them out," Coriakin said. "I am not too knowledgeable on the subject of the human mind, but from what I glean two men in position of power must clash, more often than not."

Edmund smiled. "It does confuse most people. Certainly it would result in tears and regicide in most cases. Me, I thought it was a splendid way to have my will done while my brother had to sign for it."

"I see."

Presently, the door opened and Lucy walked through, followed by Jill, Eustace and Emeth. All three of them looked like they had no good news.

"Please say you have a solution in store," Peter said. "Because we only managed to learn that it is worse than it seemed."

"Welcome," Edmund said, stepping in front of his brother. "I trust your trip was less eventful than ours?"

"We were attacked by a dragon, if that's what you mean. Thankfully it went after someone else."

"I'm sure the other person appreciated it."

"Well, there were more of them, and they were better armed. I have no regrets," Eustace said, instantly betraying he was worried sick about the unfortunate armed party.

"How did it go?"

"We didn't get to England," Jill said. "The bridge was closed on the other side, so we couldn't get through."

"There's no way out?"

"It's worse," Eustace said. "The bridge is gone. It started folding when we were close to the other side, and then we had to run to make it back. It disappeared completely once we were back here."

Peter looked troubled. "Then there is no place to go, regardless of Edmund."

"Thank you."

"I would thank you to quit speaking altogether. We are in a fair amount of trouble and your attitude helps no one."

"It makes me feel better."

"In that case, can you utter your comments where no one can hear them?"

"But where would the improvement of my mood come from, then?"

"We did find out something," Eustace said reluctantly. "If you can call it that."

"Which was?"

"We met a centaur. Can't recall his name; it was ridiculously complicated. He said that this is part of a grander scheme, much grander than we could hope to understand."

"That's all?"

"He said he himself had no idea. That's what it sounded like to me. He said he'd been considering the movement of the stars all his life, back in Narnia, and that there was opportunity for the study to continue here; he said he watched them move across the sky from the beginning of Narnia to her end, and that that there was something he couldn't understand, that happened when Rillian was living. It was as though the stars were watching, he said."

"Of course they would," Jill said. "His mother was one of them. Why wouldn't they watch?"

"What would Rilian have to do with it?" Caspian asked. "He is… Well, whatever he is, he lived as a human and he died as a human."

"What did you mean by worse?" Eustace sat down, accepting a cup of tea. "Can it be worse?"

"It can, apparently. It turns out it's not about hating Edmund, but that Lilliandil wants Caspian's soul for Rilian's sake, and Edmund owns it presently," Lucy said.

Edmund would gladly hide under the table, when the three newcomers turned to look at him with horror and pity in their eyes. Peter had, thankfully, taken it upon himself to flesh out the tale, and by the end Eustace was whistling through his teeth.

"That doesn't bide well," he said. "I wonder, why would Rilian go through with it at all? He's a fair bloke. He wouldn't just decide to kill someone, especially not his own father."

"He seemed almost normal when we were there. Friendly, too. But that at least, shouldn't be surprising," Jill said. "I mean, he was enchanted for ten years, wasn't he? There's no way a man can be wholly sane, not after something like that. Sometimes I worry I still hear the witch's voice, and I have seen her maybe twice. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he was still enchanted." She paused and then spoke in a hushed, frightened voice. "You don't suppose he is still under the spell?"

"The witch is long dead," Eustace said.

"Yes, but you've seen her! She was poison and he was there for ten years! I rather think one day spent there would be enough for her to seep into him enough poison, to last a lifetime. Maybe he's still wrong for it, somehow, and that's why it was so easy for Lilliandil to get him to go along with her revenge."

Edmund smiled, though inwardly he felt as though he was back in the white sled, with his fingers and lips dusted with white sugar, while Peter and Lucy gasped and waved their arms in an effort to quiet her. Jill was more right than she could suspect. The poison never quite went away. It lay dormant until the darkest hour, when it rose from its bed and seeped into a man, taking his peace away, taking on the face of a woman, offering everything he wanted, the world at his feet, if he would just submit. He saw the witch's face many times in his life and through her words he had seen it all slipping away, torn, bloodied, beaten, by his owns hands and the world drowned in blood and tears.

"I am fine," he said eventually in response to Caspian's worried stare.

"What did I say?" Jill whispered to Eustace, who shrugged.

"So, what do we do?" Peter asked, pacing around the room. "We can't fight Lilliandil. Even if she wouldn't kill, she is fully capable of getting past the lot of us. We have no idea how to stop her. We have no idea how to kill her. We have nothing whatsoever to bargain with. Does anyone have any ideas?"

Edmund opened his mouth.

"Anyone who isn't Edmund?"

"I resent your disregarding my contribution, before you actually hear it."

"I don't have to listen to it, to know what you were going to say."

"Really? Because what I was about to say is that there is merit in going to the dead world, still."

Peter stared at him, speechless.

"I am not a martyr, Pete, honestly. Where did you get that idea?"

"Why the dead world, though?"

"Lucy said there were spells written before the world was made. If there's anyone who'd bother writing things down before a world is made, then I imagine the same person would find it necessary to conclude its existence with words as well. Maybe there is something there that we can use."

"That's a pretty large assumption, Ed."

"Would you like to consider my other ideas?"

"Do you have other ideas?"

"None that you would like."

"If my opinion is of any value," Coriakin said, "I would say Edmund's plan is wise. Narnia is a world of stories; they had been written throughout her existence, they must be written down somewhere. There may well be something to bargain with."

"Where would they be written?" Peter started asking, but Lucy was already speaking.

"The Stone Table!" she said. "That's where the spells were written, Aslan said so."

"Any nays?" Peter looked around the room, but there was nothing. "It is settled, then."

There were things to consider, before their departure. They were dead, naturally - there was no fear that anything but the knife Rilian carried could hurt them. Yet there was wisdom in making sure discomfort was kept to a minimum.

"I nearly froze, or I thought I would, when I closed the door. We need clothes, lots of them," Peter said in no uncertain terms.

Thankfully, though heaven no longer sought to provide everything they desired, there were benefits to being in a magician's care. Coriakin was willing to give them whatever equipment they found necessary; weapons they already had.

"Have you a map of Narnia, perhaps? And a compass?" Peter asked, and it turned out that indeed, there was one, as detailed as he could only hoped to find.

"We are not mules, Peter," Lucy said, curbing her brother's enthusiasms for packing everything and then some, which could conceivably be of any use. "I grant you, fire and tea and a pot is a good idea; wood and blankets and sleeping bags and tents not necessarily. We need no sleep, and I don't think we shall need shelter."

"There's no telling what may accost us."

"The world is dead."

"That doesn't mean it's empty."

This went on for some time. Edmund, for the most part, chose to stay out of it. He didn't like admitting it, even to himself, but Jill was right. The little time he had spent in the witch's power had been enough to last a lifetime. Certainly enough to burn her face across his memory, her voice into his heart.

And even then, he knew it was just an illusion, and that the visage he deluded himself into seeing was not her, but his own fear, given form.

Perhaps Rilian was the same way. Perhaps Lilliandil had him convinced that a soul is the only way he could ever be forgiven.

"Edmund?"

"Ten minutes of solitude, if that is not too much to ask," Edmund said to Caspian, when his hands ached to feel the warmth of his skin, a reminder that he was not so tainted as to drive away all that he held dear. Thankfully, Caspian, even if he did not understand, disregarded all words and sat by his side.

"You are not well."

"I am not."

"Are you upset about Jill's words? I don't think it's quite as simple as she wishes to make it seem, though I do see the allure of this simple solution."

"Do you think she's wrong?"

Caspian sighed. "No. I don't think she is."

"What a wonder. How so?"

"Because I know you are still haunted by the witch," Caspian said seriously. "Even though you have said naught, I know there have been bad dreams, when there were dreams, and that even now you're fretting."

"This still hasn't scared you off."

"I never feared you. I never shall. I know you are haunted, but I know that she doesn't rule you. Even if I am hoping Jill is right, to tell you the truth, because I would rather believe it was the enchantment that turned Rilian against you."

Edmund found himself stripped bare before Caspian's gaze, stripped of all secrets and half-truths and carefully constructed facades. Caspian said no more, but instead wrapped an arm around him and Edmund rested against his shoulder, grateful for the support.

"Can we fix this?" Caspian whispered, and it was the frightened boy Edmund barely knew, a child thrust to the forefront of an army, on whose shoulders expectations were piled up so high they threatened to topple him over, along with his cause.

"Do you wish me to lie?"

"If you would be so kind."

"Then yes, we shall conquer, and then we shall return to heaven, restored to its blissful glory. Aslan will make it right; he will step out of the shadows and make things right, so that you can have your son back, and your wife, and there will be no more fear or despair."

Caspian laughed. "You almost sound convincing."

"Ah, I confess, I don't consider the situation as worthy of despair as it would appear."

"No? Pray tell, what holds up your spirits, and do you have enough to share?"

Edmund closed his eyes and breathed. The clothes Coriakin had fitted them with were simple, plain dark shirts and trousers, and mail over them. The smell of leather, linen and steel was strong in his nostrils, bringing with it the memories of times long past, when he would ride to battles or to the courts of foreign kings, to negotiate the terms of peaceful surrender.

"I think I dislike bliss," he said eventually. "I think it wearies me." Certainly, this land was peace itself, all adventure, no matter the excitement, was pure joy and security and love, and yet… He felt something was lacking.

Caspian watched him, and when Edmund turned to look he found him cross-eyed, as the distance between them was so short. "I think I understand," Caspian said at last. "You miss her."

It should be a shock, to hear the words, Edmund thought. It wasn't. It should be a shock to hear them spoken so casually. It wasn't.

"You miss her, you miss having to rebel every day," Caspian said with neither judgement nor fear, and Edmund smiled at him. Caspian smiled back, the smile of a young king who finds his way by balancing on the edge of a precipice between two warring nations, but stumbles on even ground.

They spoke no more. Edmund found Caspian's hand and squeezed it, trying to say with the gesture more than he was willing to say with words.


	7. Despairing Cries

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER SEVEN - Despairing Cries]

Aslan's country was empty - it was as though all creatures had gone into hiding. There had been thoughts about raising an army to guard them on their way, at the very least spies who would warn them beforehand, but the idea was abandoned, mostly because there was a very real danger of death or worse awaiting anyone who joined their cause, no matter arguments to the contrary.

They waited until darkness fell before they set off, even though the cover of darkness meant nothing, when they were pursued by creatures of light, but there was comfort in returning to the habits from the time they were alive. They bade Coriakin good-bye at the doorstep of his home, accepting as a parting gift a vial of water that would provide inextinguishable light when triggered, and immediately took to the shadows of the forests and valleys. Somewhere up high the dragons circled, but none lowered their flight enough to be a cause for concern.

Still, they travelled through the darkness in glum silence.

It was a few hours before they heard the roar of the river. Lucy ran forth, eagerly dipping her hands into the water. Edmund forcefully squashed the impulse to hold her back, as the water was black and turbulent, but she immediately straightened with a broad smile on her face. "It is safe," she said. "It remembers!"

"Oh, thank goodness," Edmund managed. He had serious misgivings, but what was there to do, but to follow her into the water. It was cold, and the frothing waves combined with a rocky bottom made the swim a difficult feat, but it was the safest place to be, at the moment.

They swam until they reached the great waterfall, at which Lucy didn't even hesitate, but let the current take her over the edge. Edmund saw a look of sheer panic in Peter's eyes, but then she was calling from the bottom and there was nothing to it but follow her example.

Despite the circumstance it was an exhilarating ride. Edmund surfaced in the cauldron with a gasp and a laugh, very much wishing they had time to do this over again.

"Never again," Eustace was saying meanwhile, with a slightly hysterical edge to his voice.

"Why, this was fun!" Jill splashed at him and laughed, but he just shot her a dirty look.

"Perhaps when we are not fleeing from mortal peril, then, we might consider it." Peter was already hefting himself out of the water, and shaking the excess of it off.

They abandoned the river soon after, pausing to wring out their packs and dry themselves (although many things had changed since the previous day, they found that it was still relatively easy to dry clothes just by wishing for it). From the Cauldron it was only a few hours of brisk march to the hill, where the door was.

"Did you bring the key?" Edmund asked once they reached it and Peter dumped his pack on the ground, in order to pat himself down.

"Of course I have it." Despite the boast it took him a few more minutes to locate the chain, on which the key hung, even though it was around his neck. His face was grim when finally he inserted the key into the lock and turned. It didn't give immediately and when he got it unlocked he had to lean on the door to push it open, but eventually it gave and they stood in the open doorway into Narnia.

There was darkness on the other side. The little light that the heavenly night provided illuminated only the first few feet of ice and snow, and nothing else. The air smelled stale, as though it hadn't moved for the longest time. Edmund thought this must have been one of the worst plans in history.

"Everyone, grab a torch," Peter said.

Without a word, they pulled on the cloaks Coriakin had equipped them with and lit the torches, then stopped in a semicircle around the doorway, each silently begging someone to go first.

Eventually Peter succumbed to the demand for heroism and, given his example, they all followed. Jill, who went last, pulled the door closed behind them, and Peter locked it from the inside, trapping them in the silent, dead world. It was no better than being trapped in a tomb, despite the orange glow of fire, which turned their faces into a spectacle of shadows and edges.

"All right, which way shall we go?" Peter asked raising his torch to reveal absolutely nothing.

"North." Jill held out her torch in the direction Edmund assumed was north. "I studied the maps," she said by way of explanation.

"Lead the way, then."

There was something deeply unsettling about this march, far beyond what they had felt during their travel through the decaying heaven, for there at least they knew it was still a world that lived and breathed. There was wind and light and even the malicious rain was a comfort, in its own way. Here, not even the slightest breath of wind moved the atmosphere and the expanse of the snow. Even the sound of snow and ice crunching underneath their feet was listless, like they were stepping on dead leaves, only worse, because the leaves in here were long past dead; they were particles buried underneath the ice, never to be seen again.

Edmund's heart fluttered wildly and his throat would not let him speak easily. He had seen death, plenty of it. He had buried friends. He had seen decay and horror and yet this silent world, in which nothing moved, nothing breathed, why, this was like being buried alive, in a limitless tomb.

There were no landmarks to measure the passage of time or distance, nothing but the endless darkness, that should feel spacious, as there was nothing above them but the skies, but was all the more oppressive for the lack of limit.

This was Narnia, Edmund thought with sudden dread. This was what she'd become, this empty, dark place, where the firelight was enough to carve only the tiniest bubble into the blackness, and held nothing at bay.

It was something of a blessing, then, that the biting cold sought to drive all thought out of their minds, leaving them focussed on putting one foot in front of another and not losing the preceding person from sight.

The journey was harsh and thankless, filled with fright the further they walked. Its silence was so encompassing, that one by one they stopped breathing, for fear of disturbing something nameless that must have resided there, for the thought of a whole world empty of all life was too much to bear. Lucy was on the verge of bursting into tears, which was frozen by the shock, Edmund thought when he caught a glimpse of her face. Narnia had been always living for her - he regretted deeply that she should be made to suffer this.

Then, in the silence, Edmund thought he heard a noise.

He stopped immediately and felt Emeth walk into him. "I thought I heard something," he said quietly, and the words rang out like a cathedral bell.

"Please tell me you are merely going insane," Peter said, pushing through the party to glare at Edmund.

"That would be a splendid thing to happen in this dark, uninhabitable world, wouldn't it?"

"Hush," Lucy said.

There it was again, a hiss and then a low murmur. The party clung together, until they were a mass of fur and limbs, with torches extended firmly before them. Far in the darkness something moved. At first it was just a shadow, which made it no less terrifying, but then, as they began to squint into the distance, they saw the light of the fire reflected in a hundred polished shapes.

It was coming closer. Edmund found he had drawn his sword without even meaning to, and the same could be said for everyone else. Jill had given her torch to Peter and put an arrow on the string of her bow.

Soon the creature crawled close enough so that they could see it fully - it was black as tar and its movements were that of a bloated toad. A thick tongue hung out from its maw, swinging back and forth with every lurching step.

"Shall we kill it?" Emeth hissed.

"Better not," Eustace said. "The noise might attract more of them."

"They feed on their own kind," Peter said.

"It's a dragon, I figured. There is only one, though, and even if its carcass attracts its fellows for a feast, it won't take long for them to eat it."

"So… do we run?" Lucy asked.

"Jill? Can you keep us going in the right direction as you run?"

"I'd better," she said, without much conviction.

"Off we go then," Peter said perfectly evenly, and then they were racing across the snowy plain. Edmund dared to look back once. The creature wasn't following them, which could either be very good news, or it could be very bad news.

Funny how his mind gravitated towards the latter.

Jill stopped abruptly, thrusting the torch before her, just in time to see two shadows rush away from its light and disappear. "I don't think running will cut it this time," she said.

There were at least three now, circling at a distance that allowed them to stay mostly invisible.

"Kill as many as you can," Edmund said. At his side Caspian gripped his shoulder hard enough to hurt, even through the fur and cloth, a gesture that Edmund took to mean he was on to him, and there would be no foolishness if he could help it.

"No need for concern," he said, just as Jill released an arrow into the glint most likely to be an eye. There was a screech and a growl, and the creature collapsed into the light, revealing that although she had missed the eye, an arrow through the throat was equally effective. It lived still, a fact easily remedied, and when the other creatures crowded it, Peter, Emeth and Caspian flung their torches to whomever stood the closest and stepped forth to add to the body count.

There was more noise in the air, noise that Edmund presumed was leathery wings, flapping. More creatures, he thought and his heart sank. How many of them could there be? Even when they were no challenge to kill, how much time could they buy themselves with this slaughter?

Just as he began to grasp the full extent of this foolishness, he heard Jill shriek and Lucy curse. He turned and, before he could think about it, he was rushing towards the creature that was attacking his sister. Except it was not one creature, but two, very slim and moving in tandem. Lucy took off the head of one, but the other managed to fell her. Jill kept an arrow notched, but the creature was so slim and moved so quickly that she didn't dare fire, lest it hit Lucy.

Eustace ran out of the shadow then, from behind Jill, and - Edmund was quite sure he wasn't thinking at all - grasped the snake-dragon's muzzle and wrestled it away from Lucy's face. The creature went quite still.

Edmund raised the torch higher, so that the cluster of monsters feasting on the carcasses of their own was illuminated, and he saw that they stopped moving. They remained frozen in the position they were in, some bent over the meat, some caught mid-growl.

Eustace, for his part, was equally still. Edmund saw in his face hunger and fear, but also a strange kind of excitement. His eyes narrowed and so did those of the creatures, which was when Edmund drove a sword through the serpent's head. Eustace jerked, but allowed himself to be pulled from the carcass. Edmund, meanwhile, bent over Lucy, frantically searching for a wound, praying there wouldn't be any.

"I am quite fine," she said faintly. "Just a scare. It's okay. It only got the armour."

"Thank the lion," Edmund breathed, wrapping her in a hug. "Do be more careful, Lu!"

"Like you're the one to talk!"

"Eustace?" Jill said in a quivering voice and immediately they all turned, to where Emeth was shaking Eustace by the shoulders. The strange look was gone from his eyes, but he seemed a little pale.

"How are you?" Edmund asked, even as both Emeth and Eustace got to their feet and they all staggered away from the carnage.

"I don't know," he said clearly. "It's so weird."

"Are you all right?" Jill asked.

"I think so."

"What happened? They all just stopped," Caspian said, holding up a torch over Eustace's crumbled form.

"I know. I mean, I think I know. I think I was it, for a moment. It was rather horrible, like being turned into a dragon all over again."

"You have been turned into a dragon?" Emeth asked in surprise.

"Ah, what fun that was," Edmund muttered, as Eustace summarised the affair briefly, summoning with it the memory of blue skies and bluer seas, of wind and salt and white foam. They all felt lighter, somehow, or at least they would have, Edmund thought darkly, if not for the memory that all of that was presently frozen and buried underneath the ice and snow, but fortunately it was only his own head that insisted on dredging up such memories.

With that, it came to him that what he had seen on Eustace's face was a kind of surrender, or a promise of one. The look was echoed by the creatures he could see; they were all frozen, as though waiting for Eustace to make up his mind to either join or lead them. What a horrid thing to consider, he thought, but if the creatures could be thus controlled, then it could be used to their advantage, because what better weapon to use against the creatures of light then darkness itself?

The upside to the affair was that they were no longer bothered, though they heard the occasional slither of a creature passing them by. There were many, far too many to count. Edmund found some comfort in the knowledge that whatever their numbers, they avoided him, avoided them.

Undisturbed, they walked quite some distance before the question of precise directions reared its head. Edmund had been entertaining it for some time, particularly in that Jill had never been to these parts while Narnia existed, and the version of it that was preserved was grander and much more real. Here, when all landmarks were hidden under the snow, they might well end up walking the oceans until they reached the very edge of the world.

"But wait…" Emeth said, when Edmund shared his doubts. "I do believe the Stone Table was on a hill - I studied the maps before I came to Narnia."

"It was. There was later a barrow build over it, so it stood even taller."

"How high was the hill?"

"You think it wasn't covered by the water."

"Well, there is a chance, isn't there?"

"It would be easier than having to dig our way through the ice."

"I never even thought of that."

"We must still remember that we are in a place so dark we cannot see past the tips of our noses, so whether the Stone Table is above or underneath the ice is irrelevant, when we may well be within reaching distance and still miss it." Edmund raised his torch high above his head and looked around. The extra yards that he could see were no different from those they had already crossed.

"Do you ever consider that things may just work out?" Jill was staring at him reproachfully.

"Rarely. It's safer to plan that way."

"I have been meaning to ask, why were you called 'Just'?" Eustace asked. "Surely Edmund the Pessimist would have been a better choice."

"As I recall, it was largely because 'Edmund, you bloody scheming son of a whore' didn't seem like a fitting title for a monarch, nor did it roll off the tongue of awed subjects well."

"Now that is a tale that I haven't heard," Caspian said. His grin was teasing, bright as any star in the darkness.

"There's not much to tell. There had been a tense situation with one of the lesser counties of Calormen, one that was largely overlooked, as it was both removed and not very wealthy. It was rather unimportant, strategically, but still a conceivable threat, as it would be a secondary, but decent, spot for the Calormene army to gather, in the event of an invasion. I may have hinted to the Tarkaan governing it that he should claim his state independent from the empire, which resulted in a rather bold, if strategically unsound, move on his part and his subsequent arrest."

"I do recall there had been a kidnapping," Caspian said with a frown.

"I may have also mentioned that my royal brother had no understanding of the subtleties of politics and would rather ransom me than risk a war with such a mighty province." Ah, what a fine afternoon it had been, watching the Tarkaan wander around him with a calculating look in his eyes, while his servants procured more wine. Edmund had been still young enough that the wine affected him quickly and in no time at all he'd looked utterly helpless, flushed and sleepy, at the mercy of his host. It was only too easy to let it slip that Narnia would surely support a valiant new country, and wasn't this wine just delicious?

"So what happened?"

"He moved against the Tisroc. As this was still formally Tisroc's country and I had been kept prisoner, I demanded retribution, in form of appointing my own governor." Edmund shrugged. "It was only sensible, when the land could host a substantial force and the Tisroc's eye had always been tinged with envy when he looked to the North. A governor loyal to Narnia would ensure the land would be at least partly controlled by us."

Eustace looked cautiously impressed. "I see where the bloody scheming part comes from. How did they manage to spin 'Just' out of it?"

"When the Tarkaan realised what had transpired, he tried to kill me and I arranged for him a fair trial in retaliation."

Caspian smiled. "I had my history masters recreate the trial. The Calormene records of your speech were a thing of beauty, even though they contradicted one another a few times."

"Their scribes embellish the words to suit their masters' tastes. I'm sure whatever you read was much more eloquent than I."

"You spoke on the man's behalf! And, as I recall, he was pardoned."

"If by pardoned you mean beheaded without a fuss after being sentenced, then yes, he was."

"I hate how matter of fact you are about this," Peter said with a shudder. He didn't look back as he spoke, for which Edmund was grateful.

Eustace seemed to share Peter's opinion, as he look appalled, which Edmund supposed was partly because he had heard the story told in such a casual manner, but Caspian was nodding approvingly and the grin on his face was one that Edmund longed to press his mouth to.

"Getting him killed was justice?" Eustace asked.

"No, that was mercy. He was subject to the Calormene law, and their ideas of a just punishment for a traitor to the crown were revolting. No offence to you, Emeth," Edmund added.

"None taken," Emeth said mildly. "I, too, find torture loathsome."

Then Peter whispered "Halt!" and they all stopped in their tracks. "If I am any judge of distance," he said, "We should be at the appropriate level. Now we will see just how good you are at keeping to a direction, Jill."

"Do not request miracles of me," she said. "I can walk in a straight line easily enough, but without stars, without anything but a compass to guide me, this is the best we could hope for."

"I think you did very well," Lucy said. "Let us light more torches, to spread the light around. Even if Narnia was frozen, there were mountains and hills. We may still find something."

They did just that. Each of them carried a small bundle of sticks, which they dug into the ground with some difficulty. It worked splendidly, and soon the small dome of light expanded enough to give them at least a hint of hope. The ice was not as even as they feared it would be. Here and there snow was covering earth, which had been frozen solid, but it was ground, not ice.

"All right," Peter said, once they got the general measurements of all the spots of ground. He unfolded a map on the ice and considered. "Five hills," he said. "How tall can they be?"

"Not very. The stable hill was covered almost up to the door, and it wasn't terribly high to begin with. Why, you could make your way up in ten minutes, without too much exertion."

"Now I really wish I had paid genuine attention to cartography," Peter said, never looking up from the map. "This seems like a likely spot," he said after some time. "If the map is to scale, we should find the Stone Table not far from here, a little to the right, sixty yards, perhaps."

Peter proved, despite his worries, to be a splendid judge of distance and an excellent cartographer, to boot. Jill and Eustace walked no more than a hundred paces, not far enough to leave the lights behind, when they cried in joy.

"Jill, you are a genius," Edmund said with feeling, once it was revealed that there was a hill before them, covered with ice up to the entrance. "You truly are."

"Thank you," she said, a little stunned herself as they gazed into the darkness of Aslan's How.

"It can hardly be worse inside than it was out there," Lucy said and bravely marched right in, leaving the rest of them to follow.

Somehow, the inside of the How was no worse than the outside. The air was just as stale, but no more, and the light stopped at the ceiling, instead of disappearing into the limitless black, which gave it a cosy, almost human feel. The etchings on the walls, already ancient when Edmund saw them last, brought a fresh breath into him. Though Narnia was dead, though everything he loved in her was gone and frozen, this was her memory, a sign that she was not wholly gone from the universe.

Caspian led the way, being the only one to visit the How after the battle that confirmed his kingship, and soon enough they spilled into the chamber that held the remains of the Stone Table.

The quest, it turned out then, was justified as it was necessary, for the surface of the stone was covered in writing. Though the world outside was dead, inside magic thrummed, reverberating in the letters in the stones and, if one stood still long enough, through the bones.

Peter took out the vial of magical light he got from Coriakin and set it in the space between the broken plates of the table, so that each was equally lit. "I sense a problem," he said immediately.

"Oh dear," Lucy said.

The writing on the table was in no language that Edmund could recognise, and yet… He bent over the stone until he almost touched its surface and focussed. There was something about the shape of the letters that he almost understood, as though he should know this, he should have studied this, at some point.

Of course, this might well have been what every student of the ancient languages feels when confronted with an ancient text, he thought wryly.

"I've seen writing like this," Emeth said. "On the tombs of the kings. The oldest one bore such marks."

"Can you read it?" Eustace dropped the pack he was carrying.

"Only if it says 'a great conquerer' anywhere, as that is the extent of my skills."

"I think it might be Greek," Edmund said. "Ancient Greek, to be precise." Underneath his finger the letters changed, somehow, though he was equally sure they didn't change their shape, and he saw at last why were they so familiar. "I can read most of it."

"You know Greek?" Jill asked with a measure of surprise Edmund felt it didn't deserve.

"Theology," he reminded her. "Mandatory class." He'd had some good times, studying the New and Old Testament as they had originally been written. He wondered if he would ever live it down. As he remembered the university, he found that beneath his fingers the letters started changing again, and though he still recognised the script, this would be more difficult, if not outright impossible. He slapped his palm on the surface of the stone and breathed. Greek. "ἐλθέτω ἡ βασιλεία σου, γενηθήτω τὸ θέλημά σου, ὡς ἐν οὐρανῷ καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς," he said out loud and was gratified to find the letters take on the familiar shapes.

"That is very impressive," Eustace said. "Can you try it in English now?"

"Why can't you?"

Eustace shrugged and, with a very silly expression, bent to the table. "Can you speak English?" he asked clearly, and to Edmund's amazement the letters did change shape just then, long enough at least to be recognisable as a form of English he knew he didn't understand.

"It's English alright," Peter said. "Or close as it could get, given the era." Though his studies had run in another direction, Peter had spent time in the company of Digory back in England, and Digory had, as far as Edmund recalled, a vast library of literature from all periods in the history of the British Isles.

"Great."

"Hang on though, the trick may work with Latin. It's not necessarily Greek, it just needs to be old enough." Sure enough, when Peter quoted some of the Latin he learned at school, some of the text changed to suit his demands. "Does anyone else speak a dead language? Or have a dictionary?"

"I know some Latin," Lucy said doubtfully. Jill and Eustace both shook their heads. Emeth tried his hand, but he had been more or less correct in his own assertion of his linguistic skill and the most he could read was the word king, great and conquer. Caspian knew only how to affect foreign accents, and the nasal speech of the Minotaurs or bears, and he did so in very convincing manner. It was of doubtful use, but Edmund found himself smiling nonetheless.

"Great. Well, Ed, it is time to test your proficiency."

"Oh, do not even pretend you are not giving this a shot."

"I quit Latin when I finished school. There's no question which of us is more qualified, Reverend."

"How is that no one has drowned you yet?" Edmund muttered, but aloud he said, "Don't be an idiot, you know Latin well enough."

"Enough to curse your ancestors, probably, if it wasn't to my detriment as well." Peter sat next to the smaller piece of the plate and focused. "How are we doing this?"

"I reckon the surest way would be to write it down, except we have no paper," Edmund said. "So, I expect we must translate as we read."

"Line for line?"

"Let's first see how it's organised."

From the very first lines (if those were indeed first - the layout of the writing made Edmund's eyes water) the writing seemed to be a historical account from the dawn of Narnia. If he strained he could just about make out the other letters, spidery, smoky shapes underneath, that moved on the surface of the stone. These must have been the spells, he surmised when the words blood and traitor caught his eye.

"It's just history," Peter said, just as Edmund turned his head to share the discovery.

"Skim it, see if there's anything interesting."

Peter and Lucy took to the task, tracing the words with their fingers in Lucy's case, until one or the other found a mention of something half familiar. "It speaks of the witch," Peter said. "Then a litany of wrongs, and finally our names. Then, let me see… Disappeared, turmoil… Telmar, that I can understand, Caspian the First, hardly any merit here, Caspian the Seafarer, I see the numbers have been dispensed with."

"Anything of interest?"

"Well, if it interests you to find out you aren't really mentioned, then no. Wait, no, there you are; it mentions that you speak with the king on the very edge of the world, and then you disappear. Caspian weds the star, it goes on to say." Here Peter frowned. "Says here she birthed a child, who would be the light of his people. The sudden death of the king, Rilian ascends to the throne on the day of his knighting. He rules for many years, marries, but when his son is grown, the king and his royal mother, lady of the stars, depart to the lands she hailed from." Peter straightened and fell silent. "Didn't Lilliandil die long before Rilian became king?"

"Ten years," Caspian said tersely. His hand was on the hilt of the sword and he looked anxious. "I would almost be tempted to say my uncle's historians worked on the piece."

"There's more," Lucy said quietly. "I can only understand some of it, but there's more names then there should be, Erlian, Tirian, Miriam the Great, Halrian, and a hundred more. I think there are dates, too, though my sight is blurry."

"How can this be?" Caspian asked. "Erlian I recall; he has been introduced to me. Tirian arrived with you, but far as I recall he was childless."

"Narnia ended before he even married," Jill said.

Edmund immediately turned to his half of the table and focused. How would Tirian be transliterated into Greek? With that in mind he traced the text and finally found what could have been it. "Tirian, the last ruler of Narnia," he read. "Who was at the door when the sun went out and the stars fell from the sky."

"Well, at least one half of the table decided to remain faithful to what actually happened. I wonder why that is."

"There's more space here," Edmund said, "Perhaps the author needed a a table of contents to work from." Despite the levity he found an unnamed dread take hold of his heart, as though the answers that lay at his fingertips would bring nothing good.

"Ed…"

"I know. How detailed is your half?"

"Fairly," Peter said with some surprise. "Oh, what a bother. There's writing upon writing here. We could finally find out what happened to the jade chess set I lost while in the giant country."

"Yes, a splendid opportunity. I shall make arrangements for a digging party."

"Less stalling, more reading."

Edmund bit his lip, but returned to the top of the text. "Let me see… The birth of Narnia, our first arrival, in glorious detail, then the reign. I see nothing of particular interest. Then disappearance, then the chaos and turmoil and the Telmarine invasion. A long line of numbered kings, culminating in Caspian the Seafarer. Followed by," here Edmund frowned, "Rilian the Betrayed."

"That is not a name that I was taught," Emeth said. "In the stories I was told he is always Rilian the Disenchanted."

"I find that I dislike the plan, all of sudden," Eustace said. "What does it say?"

Edmund shook his head and held up the magic vial to shine directly onto the script. He found among the history the voyage of the Dawn Treader, and as his eyes became accustomed to the strange blue light he found the words became clearer and clearer, as though the memories were coming back to reinforce them. He was suddenly on board the ship, locked in a mock battle with Caspian, laughing as though there were no ill in the world. "She sailed ever East," he said. "Until there was a Floating Island on the horizon."

"I have the mention of a Floating Island over here as well. Why was it called that?"

"Guess."

"You don't mean it was truly floating?"

"A hundred feet above the waters, yes."

"I would have loved to see that."

"It was magnificent," Lucy said. "More than that."

"Huh. It says something about a tree and then it gets a bit weird."

"I bet," Edmund and Caspian muttered at the same time, then laughed. The shimmering light brought out angles and shadows in his face and Edmund remembered the enchanted sleep that the tree forced upon him, his pale face and the laughter dwindled.

"I am not reading any further," Peter said, appalled.

"You may relax. I don't think there would be anything there to offend your sensibilities, when you can stomach Caspian's presence."

"Clearly, you do not wish for me to read further."

"Stop being such a baby."

Peter rolled his eyes but pressed on. "Broadly speaking there is not much there. The voyage continues, the seven lords are found, or at least accounted for, you argue," Peter frowned. "Edmund refuses."

"Excuse me?"

"If I understand correctly, though there is no direct quote. There is an argument and Caspian expresses a desire to go beyond the world with you and you refuse him."

There was silence. With some difficulty Edmund turned back towards the stone and found the Floating Island. Here the words spoke of what he remembered; the vision, the return, then the horrid moment when Aslan spoke to them and Caspian's narrowly avoided abdication.

A curious sensation came over him then, and as he spoke the words he ceased to understand them; he stopped hearing, or rather he forced himself not to hear. He forced onto himself a feeling of serenity, fake though it was, and secure in his peace, detached from meaning, he spoke, as though it did not concern him, neither his life, nor his family, nor Caspian.

"Edmund," Lucy said, when he fell silent, but he didn't listen. His mouth was dry - he'd been speaking for quite some time - and he pushed past the people who were suddenly so foreign to him and ran out of the chamber.

Somehow he found his way in the darkness, for when he stopped he knew he was outside. There was snow underneath his feet and no ceiling over his head, even if the darkness was just as consuming as it had been within.

Only then did he let himself fall against the side of the mound.

His own voice, calm and bereft of inflection came back to him, speaking dispassionately as though from a great distance. "And thus Narnia was forfeit forever and doomed to die long before her time," it whispered darkly, seeping into his heart like the poisonous promises of the witch. "Torn from her destiny and glory, for Edmund the Traitor had taken what belonged to her, the heart of her king, and stole it with him to another world."

He wondered if he could possibly wander far enough and call for the creatures to hide his footsteps. He wondered if he could wander in the snow forever, until the world ceased to exist and he would disappear as though he never was.

His lips were parched. Even though the snow melted into pure water, it didn't quench his thirst; it was dry in his mouth and cold enough to burn.

There were voices in the distance but Edmund never spoke; not even a breath to let them know he was there. He was hidden among the stones, where the light was sure to miss him, and if they moved far away, he would go and walk until a creature of the darkness accosted him and finally put an end to what should have ended thousands of years ago, or last night, on the table which should have been unbroken, whose story should have been continuous.

He had been king, he thought. He had sworn to protect the land and her people, he had sworn to serve her with his life. He had sworn to the people and to himself that he would repay the hurt he caused, would repent the betrayal and become worthy of the honour, and yet, all those years later, he was nothing but the traitor again.


	8. Are you the New Person, drawn toward Me?

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER EIGHT - Are you the New Person, drawn toward Me?]

A strong hand gripped his shoulder then and someone clung to him in the darkness, and perhaps there was just the smallest amount of warmth in him after all, for where they touched there was a spark and Edmund felt he could just barely move his head.

"You fool," Caspian was whispering, frantic and furious, into his lips. "You utter fool."

"By all accounts," Edmund managed. He resisted when Caspian tried to pull him out of the niche. "No, please. Just leave me be."

"There's more written. We need to know, Ed - Peter says it gets too complex in Latin, he doesn't understand the subtleties."

"I do not wish to know more."

"Surely this shouldn't have shaken you so hard," Caspian said.

Edmund felt silence was enough of a reply.

"Why? This we already knew, did we not?"

"Knew? Caspian - it is written, upon the Stone Table that I brought Narnia to her end! That I had it in my power to choose and I chose to doom her!"

"That was not your choice."

"Wasn't it? I said yes. I swore myself to you. Had I not, the matter would have been settled and Narnia would have been spared, would have thousands of years to grow and live!" Edmund sank against the hill in despair. "I destroyed her. The White Witch had failed, Miraz had failed, with the armies and the magic, ice and fire, yet I managed to succeed with nothing but a word, all because you have a pretty face."

"You didn't know," Caspian said in the darkness, and though his expression was hidden his voice betrayed fear and apprehension, but not contempt. He would have stood by Edmund's side, regardless; he would follow without question, and he would never speak a word, even if it meant his doom. Which one of them was the fool, Edmund wondered, when Caspian couldn't bring himself to regret the choices made, even when their dire consequences were staring him in the face?

Worse still, said a part of him, the little voice he despised and sought to quiet more often than not, he would have never made a different choice, because what wrong could there have been in swearing fidelity out of love, and if he'd been advised of Caspian's fate, all the more reason to say yes. If it was a contest of letting people - however many people - die and be taken into heaven, and the end of Caspian's being, surely there could have been no other choice.

Edmund looked to the empty skies and continued speaking in a broken whisper. "I thought it harmless. I thought- I thought it was what you needed. I thought it my duty to give to you the comfort I could, so that you not wallow in misery, but would be the king she deserved."

Caspian's grip upon his arms was painful then. It was as though the man was trying to dig his fingers into the bone, and crush it. Edmund thought distantly that would have been splendid - the reality of pain could take away this confusion and chaos.

"I thought… Our time was so limited." With shaking hands Edmund found Caspian's face, finding in it anger and pain. He smoothed it with his fingertips, felt the lines disappear even as something burst in him and words came pouring out, senseless words. "I saw, in a dream, something of a future, or perhaps my imaginings only. I saw you, and I saw what I would be without you. I saw fear and madness. I was lonely - by the lion, I was so lonely. I had my family by my side, I had them all, and I suffered alone because none of them was you, no one could ever be you and I feared for you, I saw you die a hundred ways and you died without knowing I hurt without you, I died without you, every day. So I thought that if we had to part, surely it would be best if we parted as lovers, waiting anxiously to reunite. I thought surely hope would sustain us, even in separation."

He laughed, then, loud and bitter, and with that laugh the tiniest piece of sanity returned to him. "I honestly thought it would be fine," he said. "I thought that my kingship was long done, that my duty was over, that if I could convince you our only hope is to wait until the lives we had begun ended, then there would be no harm and there would be peace. In the end, when Eustace told me you had died and then had been restored in Aslan's country, I knew that I was right and our hope was true."

Caspian's forehead was against his, the puffs of his breath against Edmund's lips the only warmth he could feel.

"Why?" Edmund asked, knowing that Caspian had no answers for him. "I tried so hard. Must I never have peace? Must I always be a traitor?"

"You never betrayed me."

The wry smirk Edmund awarded him then was unfortunately lost in the darkness. "Haven't I just confessed to humouring your infatuation onboard the Dawn Treader? Most people would consider that a betrayal."

"That is not what you said."

"I suppose it wasn't." Edmund felt the cold then, truly allowed himself to feel the bite of frost on his skin. The wound on his chest was likely bleeding; he would be lucky if it weren't wide open.

"Why is this such a pain to you," Caspian said, "to even admit that you want things that aren't for the good of Narnia?"

"I find that things work for the best if I want things that benefit the country."

"But you are no longer king. You no longer have obligations, least of all to Narnia, which is dead. Would it be so horrible to take what you want, instead?"

Edmund pressed his mouth against Caspian's, briefly. "You don't know what you're asking of me and if you knew, you wouldn't ask."

"I'm asking," Caspian said confidently, the stupid, ignorant, marvellous fool.

"Go to hell."

Edmund shoved Caspian away and started to feel his way back to the cave. There was more to be read, perhaps a loophole that he'd missed, something he had failed to take into account. Perhaps there was still a way to reverse this, to have Narnia reborn. Perhaps he could see his mistakes undone; perhaps if he wished, if he prayed enough, then his treachery would be forgiven.

He went no further than three paces when a pain gripped his side and he clutched at the icy stone for support.

"Edmund!"

"I'm fine," he said, but did not push Caspian away. There was such comfort in his arms; he was at home there. He was safe and whole. He turned his head into the crook of Caspian's shoulder, just so he barely touched the skin of his neck and inhaled. The smell of the stale air was strong, but the freshness of heaven and the water still permeated the clothes and leather, but above all, there was just Caspian, the heady, infuriating scent of him, which drove all else away. Edmund would gladly crawl into him then, just remain where he knew he was forgiven all offences and crimes, and never return to the world.

Then, as though called by his careless wish, lights begun to appear. Not the orange glow of flames, or the bright light of the magic vial. Instead the air became thick with the sparks of the fireworks and Edmund saw in wonder and dread that stars had begun to shine anew, high above the dead world. He found Caspian's face inches from his, also staring into the abyss that was becoming populated again.

"How?" he whispered reverently, for even though there was fear, it was a spectacle of such beauty he could but hope it would never end. These were not the stars he knew so well, but new constellations and new stories written upon the sky. The stars travelled from the utmost east, climbing the black dome and spreading across it, as though commanded to shine across the dead land by some unknown leader.

With the new the light they saw on the plain shadows and among them, curiously sharp in the pale, diffused illumination, stood the figure of a man.

It was Rilian.

Behind him was Lilliandil, but had she not come closer, Edmund would have never recognised her. She had been bright, even in heaven, but now her pale face was sallow and her glow was all but extinct. He recalled Coriakin's words and understood, not just knew, that she was dying; somehow he knew that her light would not see her through to the end of this, that the task that she came to see done would have to be finished without her.

"We must hide," Caspian whispered soundlessly, yet Edmund heard his voice as loud and clear as though it had been a shout in a cathedral.

"It's too late," Edmund said.

Rilian was coming towards them, preceded by a pale shadow. Lilliandil's light flickered around him, like a halo.

Far in the distance Edmund saw shadows moving across the ice. The dragons were coming out to fight for their land, he thought. There was no time to observe that, however.

"Are we unwelcome?" Rilian asked quietly, but Edmund was staring at Lilliandil.

"Madam," he said. "Why have you come?"

"Why have you?" she asked. "I told you, did I not, that it would bring you nothing but pain."

"You have. I am thankful for the advice, even though I chose not to heed it."

Lilliandil smiled lightly at that. "Then you understand why must I be here. It is my destiny."

Edmund saw then, what was it that she planned, and, though she couldn't have wanted him to, he saw that she had shared the plan with no one.

"I must say, I do not," he replied. "My lady, you have achieved eternal rest for yourself and your son, regardless of my involvement." He had to pause then, because a hateful voice came to him across the ages. What had the witch said on this very hill? Was it not that Narnia would perish in fire and water, if she didn't spill the traitor's blood upon the Stone Table? How right she was, in retrospect, about the traitor and about the fire and ice, even if she was wrong about the specific betrayal.

With great effort he continued. "Narnia is dead," he said. "There's no hope anymore."

"No," she said. "There is always hope."

"My lady, I think the time for riddles is long past," Caspian said then. He stood straight, gazing without fear into the faces of the two who were once his family. "If there is something you can achieve, or hope to achieve here, you must speak up. I will apologise a thousand times, if I must; I will suffer whatever penance you assign me, but I will not suffer to be lied to, or deceived. You have not been honest with me."

"No." Lilliandil stroked Rilian's cheek and he turned into the touch, though his eyes looked frightened. Edmund thought he recognised the expression. He had seen it more than once on Peter's face, when he was raised to the high throne as a thirteen-year-old boy; he had seen it in the face of Caspian all those years in the past, on the high tower, when he confessed to his inability to govern. It was the look of a boy who had been give a mighty task that he feels is beyond his strength.

"I had been happy enough, and I bore you no grudge for your distance," she told Caspian. "How could I? You were kind to me, but you must know, then, that I would have married you regardless of your kindness, or bravery, or any of the reasons a woman might choose a man. I was waiting on the isle of my father for the king of Narnia to make me his queen, and I cared not who he was."

"That does settle my conscience," Caspian said. "I never wished to hurt you, though I acknowledge now that there was a time, early on, when I wouldn't have cared if I did."

"You never did." Lilliandil looked down, and her white face was solemn and beautiful, like that of a saint of a cathedral window. "I understand precious little of what you feel, but I imagine what I feel for you must not be unlike love, for you have given me that which I wanted." She drew a breath and her light shimmered. "Rilian is the reason I said yes to you. Rilian alone."

"I don't understand."

"We envy you," she said after a moment. "We envied Adam and Eve since the first steps they took. You looked to us for light and guidance, and we envied you all the while. We are prisoners of the world we are born in, when you may walk across the bridges between worlds at will. Our lives are limited, yours are not. I said good-bye to many of my kin, and may you never understand the pain that a star feels when saying farewell, for unlike your separation ours, when it comes, is forever. We are dissolved into nothing. We become nothing." Rilian took her hand in his and she smiled at him. "My son is going to change that."

"Like in the story about a mermaid," Edmund said absently. The other three looked at him, and he blushed, but elaborated. "Mer people had no souls, but she was allowed to try and earn one after she died, because she loved a prince and sacrificed herself to be with him."

Lilliandil smiled. "Stories travel, then. I, too, had married a king for the chance to earn a soul, though it was not just for myself, but for all of my kind."

"Your predicament is indeed dire, Lilliandil," Caspian said, "But I am sorry to say I am not moved enough to lay down my life. I am certainly not going to lay down Edmund's."

"Have you not read the inscriptions?" she asked, turning to Edmund. "You know what befell this land, because of you. Surely you wouldn't wish to live with the guilt on your conscience."

Edmund frowned and then laughed. "No, madam, you are most right - you understand little of how we feel. Had you but asked this of me earlier - when there was still hope to save this world - things might have been different. Now Narnia is dead. I may have been responsible for her destruction, and I will bear the guilt for as long as I live, but it is done, and I cannot turn back time. I feel for you and your people. I understand what you wish for, but I have no obligation to honour the promises made to you, especially now that I know what it entails. I'm sorry."

"Then, Edmund, you do not understand. You think your obligation to Narnia died with her? No. It is still your obligation, as her king, to fulfil the promise made in her name," Lilliandil said. "The rightful king of Narnia had promised me his soul in marriage, and so you will oblige. You will submit."

"My lady," Caspian started, but she spoke faster, mindless of the interruption.

"Do you know how many of us died for this? Do you realise how many I watched dissolve into the abyss, for the chance to have others earn that which you are given freely?" There was anger in her voice and Edmund stood impassive, watching her still radiant face. "We deserve the chance which you have robbed us of."

"Mother, please. Enough," Rilian said. He turned to Caspian then. "You are angry with me, I know. You are right to be."

"I'm not angry with you," Caspian said softly. Edmund thought wryly that this was not unlike the conversation he had had with his father on the subject of church service, though of course his chosen path did not include murder. "You are my son, I should forgive you all offences."

"Then, perhaps, you will forgive me this." Rilian schooled his face into the mask of a king, unfeeling and regal. Edmund saw again in his face the kind of glow that surrounded Lilliandil and knew that what Coriakin had said was true - Rilian was more star than he was man.

"King Edmund," Rilian said then. "We have come to deliver to you these words: much wrong was done because of you; millions have died because of your selfish choice, countless more will never be born. You may yet redeem yourself, if you submit now and return to me what is mine by the laws of Narnia, by the word of her king. If not," here he paused and continued in a grave voice, "I shall take it by force."

"I will not let you," Caspian said evenly, and any other time Edmund would have watched with interest, for this would have been a spectacle worthy of any admission fee - two kings, father and son, glaring at one another in a silent battle.

"You don't have the strength to stop me."

"I have enough. You may be a star, but you are still my son, you are my blood. I watched you learn to walk, I watched you fall and I watched you win. Believe me when I say that I can and I will fight you."

"I am not alone, however," Rilian said, and suddenly Edmund discovered their surroundings were lighter than the stars in the sky should allow, even if the land was covered by ice and snow. This was because there were people on the icy plain, shining, splendid people. Narnia was full of stars.

It was an army.

"I am to be their saviour." Rilian looked down as he forced the words out. "They will heed my every word. If I tell them to destroy you, so shall it be, even at the cost of their lives.

"I shall give you three days to make your farewells," he continued when neither Caspian nor Edmund made a move to answer. "After that time we will meet here again."

They turned and walked away, mother and son, leaving Caspian and Edmund staring at the vast, empty landscape, lit with silvery light. Without a word they made their way back into the dark corridors.

Edmund hissed when they were far enough from the entrance, grasping at his chest. He had been right - the wound was bleeding and, judging by the state of his shirt, it had been bleeding for a while now. "This cannot possibly be healthy," he said.

"I hardly think there are grounds for a contest. I seem to have found myself in a competition against my own son, who intends to be the saviour of his mother's people; who incidentally has murderous designs on you, whom I have known for barely any time at all, yet as it happens, our acquaintance led directly to the destruction of my home world. Have you any insight, any wisdom to impart?"

"His designs on me seem to be of cannibalistic nature, and his ultimate means of becoming the messiah requires that he absorb your soul; leaving this out seems to cheapen the tale."

"Thank you, truly. Leaving that part out of mind could in no way be beneficial." Caspian nonetheless gripped Edmund's arm and pulled him close. "What do you mean by cannibalistic?"

"Oh, have I not shared? This glorious wound I received when Rilian tried to eat the heart out of my chest."

"This tale becomes more convoluted with every passing second."

"Caspian," Edmund started, but he was not allowed to finish. Caspian's mouth was upon his and his back hit the wall.

"No," Caspian said some minutes later, when they were both breathing so hard it was almost as though they were sobbing. "Never. Even if I have to watch the world be destroyed all over again, if I am to kill all the stars in existence with my own hands. No. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Edmund said. His right arm trembled. The visions of bleak defeat, of Peter in Lilliandil's grasp, were stark in his mind, but so too was the picture of Caspian soulless and empty, used to further some ambition he couldn't possibly understand.

"Good."

Hand in hand they returned to the heart of the How, where the rest of the party waited anxiously. Lucy rushed to greet them as soon as they appeared, wrapping her arms around Edmund. Her shoulders were shaking.

"I'm so sorry, Lu," he said, burrowing his face in her sweet-smelling hair.

"It's all right. I forgive you."

Edmund smiled, just a little, and some of the cold in his heart ebbed away.

"Well, now that the emotional storming out is behind us," Peter said brusquely, though from the fact that his back was turned Edmund knew he was holding back tears, "we must consider what to do next."

"But you have yet to hear the best part!" Edmund said.

"When you sound this cheerful, it is never a good sign."

"Rilian and Lilliandil are in this world now," Caspian said. "We spoke with them."

"So you have good news? Did they abandon their quest?"

"Yes, the news is good. Lilliandil doesn't care that I didn't care. She was happy and content with the arrangement. There is also however the bad news, and it is so much worse."

"Well, out with it!"

"Rillian and Lilliandil are here with an army of stars," Edmund said. "It turns out that I have inadvertently robbed them of their messiah, and therefore every star in Narnia will be here in three days' time, to punish me for this misdeed."

Peter gaped at him. "Surely it is a joke."

"If only it were," Caspian said. "We were told Rilian was born to become the one to give the stars souls. I infer he needed one of his own to fulfil this, and consequently he must have mine, which he cannot receive otherwise than through destroying Edmund's."

"That sounds ridiculous," Eustace said. "And complicated."

"I agree."

"Are you serious?" Peter looked at them both in turn and then, unexpectedly, he laughed. "Isn't this the finest joke you have ever heard?"

"It did strike me as funny, yes," Edmund said with a grin. Unfortunately, their mirth was not shared.

"Why are you laughing, you imbeciles?" Jill cried. "It's not funny at all!"

"It is a little funny," Lucy said, though she was torn between laughing and crying. Caspian walked over and embraced her, and into his shirt she mumbled on, between hiccups, "Edmund was going to be a priest, and now because of him the saviour cannot fulfil his duty."

"I still don't understand," Emeth said.

"I shall explain it to you," Lucy promised. "Soon as we have a plan."

"To be quite honest, I don't think we have much of a choice," Edmund said.

Peter whirled to deliver his most potent glare. "You say one more word, and I will kill you myself."

"It would speed up the affair, I'm sure. Do let's be realistic, however. There is an army of stars out there; I saw thousands walking the earth and hundreds of thousands in the sky. We had trouble getting past Lilliandil alone."

"What do you want us to do, then? Tie you up as a token of our good will? I'm terribly sorry, but I have no ribbons."

"Don't be a brat. I was about to say we have little choice, but to hope for Aslan to come," Edmund said. It was a poor chance, but what else was there? "I would of course be happiest if you returned to heaven, preferably straight to England. It's quite light out. Jill will take you to the door without fail." He held up a hand, to quiet the onslaught of protests. "I am well aware that you won't go. I just have to ask that you consider this. Really, the most we can do now is stall for time, and if that fails, I would rather see you safe than pointlessly heroic."

There was a moment of silence. "Oh, are we done with heroism now? Excellent, it was uncomfortable." Edmund stepped around Lucy and sat in the groove of the broken table. "I'm going to do some reading."

"We only have three days," Peter said.

"Yes, but we also have no sun to measure them. In fact, the argument can be made that we have all the time in the world."

"Somehow I doubt Rilian is going to see it this way."

The discussion went on for some time, but Edmund was already engrossed in the text. It wasn't easy. The letters were far from still and though the words remained, the sentiment behind them was changing from moment to moment. It was as though the words were written many times over, by different people, and their inflection had carried into the text. Had the stars written it? It would explain a lot, he thought. Both the inflection and the dual records, the world as it should have been and the world as it was.

At first, there was nothing to further his understanding. There had been his and Caspian's encounter in the shadowy cabin of the Dawn Treader (whose detail made him vaguely uncomfortable), and the rash promise of fidelity. It was upon this promise that the trouble seemed to hinge, as it was that paragraph which bore the most shadowy marks underneath. The few others which bore similar notes were the ones depicting his earlier betrayal of Narnia and Aslan's death (old and older magic, Aslan had said) and Caspian's wedding.

The first was of no particular importance, Edmund decided, though it was difficult to read. There was some disagreement on whether the sacrifice was just, but overall the victory had prevailed and won over the non-believers. The second…

The shadowy letters were hard to decipher and they were in Greek. Edmund strained to make out the words and still wasn't certain whether his translation was sufficient. "Narnia is the heart of her world, and the heart of Narnia is with the heart of her sovereign," it read, in fine calligraphy. Caspian had promised his to Edmund, he half-thought, half-read. This was blazing like fire from the stone. He was king and he had chosen to give his heart away to someone who did not belong in his world; in a land fuelled and sustained by magic this couldn't have ended well.

Then came the wedding, and if the historical part of the account was accurate (which it likely was) it had been the night of the summer solstice. There had been many kings in attendance, as well as the Narnians. The wedding was held beyond the castle, in the grassy fields, and there had not been one creature present that didn't cheer. It must have been grand. Edmund was glad he'd been spared the ordeal of watching Caspian wed to such applause. In fact, the separation had almost been a blessing, as he'd been spared the sight of Caspian's wedding altogether.

The vows were etched into stone with greater than usual zeal, or at least it seemed to be so - there was a tone to the words that indicated the author of the account had strong feelings on the subject. Edmund thought himself mad, for drawing such conclusions from etchings, but at the same time he couldn't help but accept them as true, though something nagged at his mind as he read. It was as though an idea were forming there, a strange, insane idea, one he dared not examine, for fear it would dissolve before his very eyes. Best to let it ripen in the back of his mind, then; when it was ready, it would be drawn forward. Such was often the case.

The chronology of the events brought some interesting questions to consider. Rilian had been born shortly after Caspian's thirty-sixth birthday, more than seven years after his wedding, which was in itself fairly delayed - Edmund didn't even try to imagine the rumours spreading through the uncouth ranks of lesser nobility. Courts were merciless in that regard, and Lilliandil's life couldn't have been easy, nor Caspian's, for that matter.

But then Rilian had been born, to the delight of many and the disappointment of a few, and Lilliandil had bequeathed upon him the vows made to her. She'd woven spells around the babe, which would mature as he did, and so Caspian would have unwittingly given up his soul when Rilian was knighted, when he was fit to rule, though the process would have begun long before - Edmund read about the matter with interest. A soul could not be halved, or exchanged, or left; but for every attachment there was the thread that bound it to people and the threads that bound a parent to their child were many and they were strong.

Therein was the agony of their parting, he concluded, brushing a hand across his own breast in wonder. For a soul to be stretched between worlds had to be a terrible strain. Of course, he thought dimly, chancing upon yet another piece of an old spell, Caspian was in the much less enviable position of having promised his heart to one, then formally made the very same promise to another, while being the king of a world which considered such promises the cornerstone of its existence and therefore saw to it that they were fulfilled. It was a wonder he had lived as long as he had.

Edmund wondered at the nature of the commitment, too; he would have lied if he claimed the attachments he formed were easy or natural. He had loved, or had come as close to it as he felt he could in the absence of Caspian, but England was cold and the land cared naught for whether his wife held the foremost place in his heart.

Narnia, on the other hand, was a selfless mistress and desired her king to be equally passionate and true about his love.

The picture was slow to form, but he was starting to understand. One piece missing was how to solve the conundrum without forfeiting either of their souls, for Edmund was quite attached to them both. This begged further the question of whether a soul that was so intimately connected to another could be of any use. Edmund hoped not, but alas, there was no evidence to back his hopes. Souls couldn't be split and so destroying his would not necessarily harm Caspian's, at least not in the capacity in which it was needed.

Deep underneath the text was only the enigmatic and not terribly promising remark that the one way to render such a contract void was to kill the superfluous participant. What, then? Edmund wondered. Were they right, Lilliandil and Rilian? He had cheated death once previously; expecting for such a miracle to rescue him a second time would be sheer idiocy. Even if Aslan came to their aid, how would he solve this? The last time he had died in Edmund's stead. Doing so again would be laughable. He would not go against the ancient magic, he couldn't, but there was the chance - there was always the chance - that he knew loopholes of which Edmund could not conceive.

What if he didn't arrive in time? What if this was the betrayal for which he was to pay as the old magic demanded?

Death, then, followed by oblivion?

Edmund's hand was shaking by the time he finished the paragraph. The pain in his chest wouldn't relent this time, radiating to the whole body. He was cold; probably for the first time he noticed how cold it truly was.

"Edmund?" someone asked, but his vision was swimming, he could hardly tell who it was. "Edmund, are you feeling all right?"

There was a touch on his shoulder and Edmund blinked to find Caspian's face staring into his, and it too was blurred. "Ed?"

"I don't want to die," he said.

A crippling pain gripped his side sending ripples of shock throughout him, taking away his ability to draw a breath, which he shouldn't need, but the lack of which eclipsed all else. He was drowning; his lungs burned, his head was on fire and there was no air to relieve him, no lifeline to grasp. His right hand jerked as though hit by a tremendous force and Edmund threw his head back and screamed.


	9. All is Truth

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER NINE - All is Truth]

When Edmund opened his eyes, he was looking at a sky clouded with dust. Where he was, however, what he saw, was nowhere near as pressing as the fact that he couldn't breathe, for there was a weight across his chest. He clenched his eyes and managed to suck a little air into his lungs, foul though it was. Focus, he told himself. Slowly. Shallow breaths. There was air; he was not wholly buried, he could breathe.

It wasn't enough. He started counting, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically until the black spots stopped spinning and he dared to open his eyes again, though there was little to find in his field of vision. His eyes worked and he could breathe; now to see about the rest of him.

Slowly, as though he was waking up from a deep sleep, he tried to kick at whatever was holding him down and found he couldn't move his legs. Panic gripped him and, against common sense, he struggled and immediately regretted it when a wave of nauseating pain swept throughout his body, very nearly dragging him into unconsciousness.

He wasn't paralysed, that was a comfort, he thought wryly, even as he fought to stay awake. The pain was blinding, but he felt it in his legs, so there was hope, though staying awake was no easy fight, for the dark spots before his eyes grew bigger every time he drew a shuddering breath, but would threaten to drown him when he didn't. A tough choice to make, so he had to be calm, had to be patient. Shallow breaths, he reminded himself. Slow and shallow.

Sound, previously absent, seeped into the world and Edmund was becoming aware of the noise. There were distant cries and moans, and now and then a clank as though something heavy had fallen from a great height.

Was it a bombing, he wondered, staring at the grey sky. No, it couldn't be. The war ended before his eighteenth birthday. What, then?

Again he focussed on breathing, in and out, like the beat to a dance. He would dance with it, until the very end, he would follow the steps, in, out, dance unto death, never stop, never fail, never miss a beat. He wouldn't pass out again. He was in pain, that was fine. He could handle pain and breathing at the same time, but he needed to move, to find out where he was; he needed to be careful as he moved, as injuries were easy to make worse, if he wasn't.

There was still the matter of the weight pinning him down, but that had to wait. First he needed to know how far he could go, where the dance would take him, where he could go on his own, where he would need saving.

His left hand was asleep - his lower body was half on it side and the hand was trapped underneath his hips. His right was a bloody mess, he found when he managed to turn his head to look. An open break, with warm blood soaking into the cloth, staining the white bone within. It could be healed, no matter how horrid the edge of the bone looked, how red was the blood. It would heal, Edmund told himself.

Still slowly, so as not to invite the black spots, Edmund turned his head left, trying to see what obstacles lay in the way of him getting his left hand back.

Instead, he found Peter.

The world hushed for a moment and Edmund blacked out. It couldn't have been long, however, it was more like a long blink, for when he opened his eyes again nothing had changed, nothing whatsoever. Even the cloud of dust overhead only changed its shape around the edges, only enough to convince him this was no dream, no vision, and there was no escape, no way out.

"Pete," Edmund whispered, and was shocked to hear nothing. "Peter," he tried again. His lips were parched. He must have inhaled too much dust, he thought, as he felt something scraping in his throat. "Peter!"

But Peter didn't move.

His upper body was flung across Edmund, and that was worthy of a curse, that was worthy of every curse Edmund knew, in whatever language, for there was a metal rod spearing Peter through, and he must have seen it coming, for all the good it did him.

Unbidden, unhelpful, horrid and hateful came the thought that his own good was not what put Peter in its path, and as soon as the thought arose Edmund knew it for the truth. He saw it plain as day in the twist of Peter's body - God almighty, the rod of steel was wider than a palm was long; it must have gone through the spine as easily as a knife goes through butter - he felt it in the weight of Peter's head on his chest. Blood matted his fair hair, but the side of his face was mercifully untouched, and he might have looked like he was sleeping, but for the stillness that no living creature could affect.

Edmund screamed until he had no air to scream with and the darkness tugged at the edges of his consciousness. He grasped at it, because everything would be better than this, than Peter's face, so peaceful in death, even when his body was broken and torn.

His throat gave out long before his lungs did, and the scream died down to a weak, pitiful mewl, which drowned out neither the howls in his chest nor the sounds of the outside world. There were voices in the distance, hurried and organised. Rescue flitted through Edmund's mind, inconsequential, because there was nothing to rescue, no one to go back for, nothing, nothing, nothing!

But even so they were coming, and they were no stragglers. Their manner, from what he could hear, was that of guards sifting through the battle field to recover what could still be recovered, and they would find and judge him salvageable, because he breathed and he screamed, even when his brother was dead and gone.

Soon enough there were heads in his field of vision, followed by hands, which lifted away his brother's broken body along with the debris. Edmund closed his eyes and focussed on breathing, if only to beg to be left alone. He wished for nothing else, he needed to be alone, he needed to not see Peter when he closed his eyes, needed to remember his face animated with life, not the lifeless husk that was lying across him, hampering his breathing. He groaned and fought against the hands which took away the weight, the stone and iron, he fought until a doctor got his hands on him and there were needles and blessed unconsciousness.

He woke again to the pale ceiling of a hospital. His vision was curiously flat, but a short investigation revealed that it was a case of bandages applies to the right side of his head, so that they covered his eye, and that the eye underneath was in working order.

"Don't take those off," someone said. Edmund turned his head to see a woman in white, a nurse, tending to a middle-aged man in the next bed. She paused when she saw him looking and came over to feel his forehead. "Don't fiddle with the bandages. They are there for a reason."

"My eye seems fine."

"You eye is fine, but the stitches on your temple are still raw."

Edmund obediently put his hand down and watched the ceiling. "What time is it?" he asked.

"One thirty in the afternoon," the nurse said, as though the bright golden light coming in through the window wasn't enough of an indication. "You were brought here yesterday morning."

"When was yesterday morning?"

She sighed, but gave him the date. "I'll tell the doctor you are awake."

Edmund nodded, even though she had already turned to finish what she was doing and then winced when the movement caused his head to spin.

The room was fairly small, with only one bed other than his own and the one the nurse was tending to. The walls were pasty yellow, bright and dirty, and his eye hurt just looking at them. He could barely move, and turning was out of question - most of his body was encased in plaster. Strange, but he could not remember what had landed him in this position. He and Peter had been going to the station, to give the magic rings to Eustace and Jill, and then… He must have wandered off, because Peter should be in the bed next to his otherwise, and he wasn't. No matter, he would be here soon enough, he had a terrible habit of dropping in whenever something happened to Edmund.

The doctor arrived soon after Edmund gave up trying to remember the nature of the accident that managed to break most of his bones and damage his head. Edmund disliked the man on sight, unfairly perhaps, but it was so hard to be fair to the bearer of bad news, and that the news was bad he saw coming from the moment the doctor appeared in the doorway. "Mr Pevensie," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Hard to say." Edmund had whiled away the time before this visit trying to wiggle his extremities. He found that while his left hand was badly bruised, he could move it freely. The right was in a heavy-looking cast, suspended on a line, but the fingers twitched if he put his mind to it. Both his legs were in casts as well, which was most disheartening, but the toes were visible and they moved, so Edmund found a cautious optimism in his rather disquieting situation.

"You were lucky," the doctor said. "Only a handful of people survived the crash."

Crash! Despite the crushing pain in his chest, Edmund attempted to sit up. The vision of a train coming towards him filled his mind. "My brother and sister, my parents! Sir, my sister was on the train, and my cousin, my brother-" but he could speak no more, because he remembered Peter then, Peter whose dead body had weighed him down on the platform, Peter!

The name must have escaped his mouth, because the doctor laid a hand on his shoulder, no doubt in an effort to calm him down. "I am sorry," he said with genuine sympathy. Edmund's estimation of him rose a little. "Your sister - your other sister, I presume - is here. We'll let her see you in a couple of minutes.

"Now," he continued before Edmund could get his breath back. "I'm pleased to say you have a good chance of recovery. Your right arm was badly broken. We pieced the bone together, and it will be functional, but it is unlikely to return to full dexterity - the damage to the muscles was considerable. Both your legs are broken, naturally, but there you are in luck - the right is a clean fracture to the bones of the feet, in about a month you will be able to walk. The left was in worse shape; the fibula cracked under the strain. Nothing to worry about. Far more serious is the trimalleolar fracture, it's not as neat; you absolutely mustn't put any weight on it for at least six weeks, but it will heal.

"Head wounds are always worrying, but as you are awake and coherent, I expect you will make a full recovery. Do not try to move too suddenly, mind. There is also the matter of your ribs, but again, you were lucky. Three cracked ribs, severe bruising, but nothing life-threatening."

Edmund assumed this was all good news, by the amount of times the doctor mentioned luck. It didn't feel like it, when all he could see was blood matting golden hair. Fortunately, the doctor had only a little time to spare before turning to the next patient. "See, this gentleman here. He has yet to regain consciousness. I was told he was the engineer of the train that crashed."

The hospital managers, Edmund decided, must have been chosen its professionals for their medical talent, rather than their tact or knowledge of the human soul. Though something within him roared, he took the news in good grace, nodding when the doctor looked at him over his glasses.

Then the doctor disappeared (thankfully) and in his place Susan arrived, dishevelled and pale as death.

"Paleness doesn't become you, Su," Edmund said lightly. "Not when you've been crying."

"Oh shut up!" She flung herself into a chair and grasped his hand in a death grip. "Edmund," she said and started crying anew. Edmund stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as she sobbed into the duvet.

"What happened to Lu and Eustace and the rest?" Edmund asked when her weeping became interspersed with silence.

"They are dead," Susan said flatly. The last of the tears were dried by a fresh handkerchief and she sat up straight. "I was down at the morgue with Aunt Alberta. Lucy, Eustace and Peter. So are mother and father. I made enquiries. Professor Kirke and his friend, and the girl they were with, they were killed too."

Their parents' faces flitted across his mind, but all he could think of was "I knew they were on the train," he said, and it was so wrong of him to be satisfied that he had known that. Lucy and Eustace and Jill, he thought, and he felt so hollow as he recalled their faces. Peter. Digory and Polly.

"The funerals are in three days and no, you may not go."

"But," Edmund started saying, but she interrupted.

"No. I will have enough to worry about, I won't have time to see to you. You are not well enough."

"I'm so sorry, Su." It should have been him to worry about laying their family to rest, not her. He was not so badly hurt he couldn't at least plan, so that she didn't need to think about the horror of it. "If I can help, in any way, anything you need me to do, just say."

She looked at him and for a moment he feared there would be more tears, but no, Susan had a grip on herself again. She was regal and she was stone-faced, much more so than Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold, who were just now walking through the door.

Edmund was grateful to have the excuse of having been in the worst catastrophe since the war ended, and as such his claim of an aching head and wooziness was treated seriously. Susan wasn't so lucky, but she bore the weeping aunt with good grace. Edmund extracted from her the promise to visit before the funeral, and then the three of them were ushered out of the room by a nurse.

The following days were, if nothing else, slow and embarrassing. Using the lavatory required far more attention that he was comfortable with and since he couldn't walk, and carting him anywhere was too much trouble, he was confined to the bed, where a couple of times a day he would be treated to a visit from a nurse, or a doctor or two, who would peek under the bandages on his head and his ribs and tell him it was doing very well.

They tried to tell him over and over how lucky he was, but Edmund thought he should have either died in the crash or been unharmed, because this in-between state he couldn't stand. He wasn't doing well. He felt for sure that if he were allowed on his feet he would have run, past the doctors and nurses, past the door and into the street, just to be away from the hospital. Hospitals were full of sickness and death, and people who served both, people who were impenetrable and false, who would smile and lie through their teeth and tell him he was doing fine. When his brother was dead, his little sister and cousin, his friends, how could he be fine?

The stench of antiseptic and medicine made him gag. It crawled down his throat, thick and cloying, digging deep into his tissues, poisoning him when he should be recovering.

He was surprised by how physically painless the ordeal had been so far, though that was a cause for wonder for less than an hour, as the pain started returning and the nurse arrived with morphine. Edmund recalled little for the following couple of hours, then he was woken from a doze by the man in the next bed thrashing about.

He was running a fever by the look of him, and the white wrappings on his chest were turning rapidly red. Fortunately, a nurse was around, so a few moments of struggle ensued and then the man was breathing peacefully once more.

Edmund went back to sleep. His head was aching.

i… someone was calling him, in the darkness. There were voices, some laughing, some solemn, but all of them so familiar, his heart ached. There was no light to see by, but there was a hand closed around his own, a smile, a whisper in the darkness, and even though the whisper was "no, never", that was fine, it was perfect, it was right, and though the night - was it truly night? - was so cold, he was warm, he was safe, he was happy…/i

"Edmund," someone said, very softly, and he opened his eyes in the lazy afternoon hours of the English autumn. The window was just clean enough to allow the light to shine through, though not so clean it would arrive without half-visible shadows. Either that, or his eye was playing tricks on him.

Susan was at his side, barely visible over a magazine. She was still pale, but her mouth was red as cherries, like the lipstick he remembered she bought two weeks ago, and her short hair was woven into a precarious curl over her forehead.

"Hey. How have you been?" Edmund struggled to sit up and Susan got off her chair to fetch a pillow he could be propped on.

"Glorious. I have been arranging four funerals and assisting with a fifth, so as you can imagine it was a barrel of laughs." She rolled her eyes, touched the coif. Edmund saw that her hands were shaking. "I think I have it under control."

Edmund reached out as far as his battered shoulders would allow and stroked her face. "What are we going to do, Su?"

"There will be plenty of time to wonder later," she said, and her voice was quite cool, though she leaned into the touch. "I contacted the university about your situation. You've been granted a leave of absence, until you are fit to resume your studies."

"Thank you," Edmund said. It hadn't even occurred to him. "Could you contact someone else for me, too?"

Her expression softened, and for the first time in a long while Edmund found he and Susan were thinking alike. "If you mean Jane, I have already sent her a telegram. I went through the notebook in your desk," she added. "I apologise for that. I'd thought you'd have more people to alert."

"Thank you," Edmund said again, ignoring the jibe - because in Susan's mouth it was a jibe - completely. If their situations were reversed, he would have gone bankrupt trying to contact everyone Susan would have wanted to know.

"She'll be coming down for the funeral. She'll probably visit you then." Susan squeezed Edmund's hand and rose from the chair. Her eyes were misty and Edmund held on, because it was wrong, so very wrong, that she should shoulder this alone. "I must go, visiting hours are nearly over and I have errands to run."

She had brought him a mystery novel, for which he was grateful - he'd read the paper six times since the morning, and there was only so many photos of the crash he could stand. One would think nothing whatsoever happened in London, and they had to run the same story three days in a row.

"Bye." His eyes were closing again and he could barely remember a time when staying awake wasn't a chore.

It was late when he woke up again. He wasn't sure what was it that woke him, then he attempted to shift and a blinding pain shot up his side. Apparently the morphine had stopped working, just in time to ensure a restless night.

Edmund sighed and tried to make himself comfortable. He failed in that.

The man on the next bed was slowly waking up, if the tossing about was any indication. Edmund watched him with detached interest. He was still hazy from the morphine, from the pain and humiliation that a man restricted to his bed must endure in a hospital, so when his mind told him this man had Lucy's and Peter's and Eustace's blood on his hands, he didn't question it.

"Noooo," the man let out at last and his eyes opened.

"Good evening," Edmund said pleasantly.

There was confusion and surprise on the man's face. "Who said that?"

"I did."

"What are you?" the man asked fearfully, looking at the ceiling as though his life depended on it, as if something dreadful would spring on him the moment he turned to face it.

"Edmund Pevensie. I'm told you were operating the train that crashed."

"Oh God," the man whimpered. "I crashed the train!"

"Killed a good number of people." Edmund watched as the blood drained from the man's face. "My brother and sister among them. My cousin. My parents."

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Probably not. I expect a train is mighty difficult to stop, once it gets going."

"I was stopping! I swear to God!"

"Strange, because I was on the platform, with my brother, and the last thing I remember was not the train stopping."

The man became paler, then he reddened and paled again. Tears poured down his face and he tried speaking, but any sensible words died in a jumbled, fevered mess. He clawed at the sheets and begged for the Lord, for the angels and saints to testify on his behalf; he begged for anyone to listen, but no one spared him a thought. "I was stopping," he repeated over and over again, as though saying it enough times would make it true, as if saying it would bring Peter back.

As if saying it would return the life to his eyes, wash the blood from his hair.

Edmund took pity on him eventually and called for a nurse.

Memories were pouring into his head, slow, thick, conjoined and mixed, when the doctor declared that morphine was no longer necessary and he must learn to deal without it. The bandage around his eye had come off and he was able to see properly again, a blessing he would gladly exchange for the use of his legs. Now, instead of glaring at the ceiling with one eye he would do it with two, and the improvement was miniscule.

Narnia floated to the forefront of his mind, the hills and forests and lakes, the creatures that gazed upon him with unblinking eyes, as though wondering if the winter followed him. The hare sprang from the corner of the room to freeze before him into a marble statue of unparalleled beauty, and then break into a hundred pieces.

Edmund startled himself awake. Narnia!

Narnia was dead. He could recall it as clearly as he recalled his name. He had stood at the door, watched the endless progression of creatures through the doorway, watched the sun being extinguished.

Narnia was dead. He was free.

There was something beyond the end, however. He remembered turning away from the darkness and stepping into the sun, into the world which was more real and true that almost anything else. It had been heaven. He had been there, he had walked the green grass and slept underneath the brilliant blue skies. There were no stars in the heavenly sky, he remembered with a jolt. At night there was but darkness, nothing, echoing the hollow in his chest. At night, no one looked to the sky.

He slept for a few hours more, even though the sun appeared and the patients around him begun their morning routines. When he woke his mind was muddled, but for those three thoughts: there had been absolution, there had been heaven and there were no stars.

It made no sense.

"Edmund?"

"Jane," he said with some surprise. "Oh, I forgot. Susan sent you a wire."

"She did. I'm so sorry," Jane said, folding her hands in her lap. "And Peter, too!"

The mere mention of Peter caused Edmund's throat to constrict. He closed his eyes and just trembled until he felt a gentle hand on his forehead. "Do you want me to get the nurse?"

"No, don't. Thank you for coming."

"Like I wasn't going to, idiot," she said fondly. Her pretty face brightened with a soft smile and Edmund felt the ache that had always accompanied him through his life. It was a memory, strong and clear among those that faded, a face that looked at him and only him, dearest, most precious memory, and he had lost it, let it drift away.

"Oh God," he whimpered, as the threads of it escaped his grasp when he almost had it. He could feel its warmth against his fingers when it slipped away, and it was gone.

"Ed," someone whispered, close to his ear, and though he knew it was Jane and he saw her coral lips move, it was a man's voice calling his name, a man's hand in his.

Caspian - the fond look in his dark eyes whenever their gazes met, the cupid's bow that crowned the curve of his mouth, the feel of his calloused hands on Edmund's naked skin, the touch of his lips between Edmund's ribs, feather-soft among the pricks of his beard, the texture of his hair between Edmund's fingers…

Edmund sat up so quickly his ribs and head exploded with pain, delighting him with a myriad of colours which flickered before his eyes.

He would have ran out of the room, mindless of the casts and the pain, but there was a gentle pressure on his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed. "What is wrong with you? Can't you sit still when you obviously cannot move by yourself?" Jane was glaring at him, but at least her voice was hers again, and not Caspian's. It didn't make his heart leap out of his chest.

"I need to," he started saying, but she shut him up with an elegantly arched eyebrow. He had to smile. "Apologies. I need to stay in bed and recuperate."

"You'd better."

Jane stayed until the funeral. Edmund was grateful for the company, even if he spent much of the time trying not to bite through his tongue in an effort to hold in the wail that the mere hint of Caspian threatened to tear out of his lips. He understood, now, what Peter meant when he likened Jane to Caspian, understood and cursed himself as he did. Companionship be damned, he ought to have romanced some brainless creature who would giggle at the drop of a hat and understand nothing whatsoever, because at least then he wouldn't be hearing the echoes of Caspian's wit whenever Jane picked up a paper to point to a headline, or see the quirk of his mouth whenever she smirked.

When she kissed him good bye he had to dig his fingernails deep into the flesh of his palm, to quell the ache. He watched her leave and was relieved, though the memories and echoes would not disappear with her. His body hurt, the mending bones and tissue itched so badly that he thought he would scratch the cast and the flesh away, if he could just reach, but none of it came close to the gaping hole in his heart, into which all that he might have once loved about England poured, and it would not fill even a fraction of the space.

His head was swimming more often than not, not only because of the pain, providing him with facts and images and not a single clue as to the timeline into which they fitted. He would have to work it out for himself, he supposed, which was a blessing in disguise, as he had something to while away the long days with nothing but the hospital ceiling to keep him company.

He'd almost had it, too. The shape of the matter. There were still holes in his memory, but even these were filling up quickly, too quickly. Two days after his siblings were put in the cold, English ground Edmund was sitting in his bed, cursing the slow rate at which his bones were mending. He needed to get out of the bed, out of this accursed hospital; he needed to find the door to Narnia, he needed, he wanted!

He had to.

This was not the time for anger, however. Edmund forced himself to count, to recite, to quote, until his mind was lulled into a semblance of peace. Anger helped nothing. He recited the Bible, then the multiplication tables; he even tried to play chess against himself in his head, but the lack of physical pieces was a hindrance, and he would get frustrated three moves in. The elderly man who shared his room had a Bible with him, and, as he spent most of the time in a deep, drugged sleep, Edmund went through it meticulously translating whole passages into Greek, then from Greek into Latin, so that he had something to focus on.

It was obvious that he needed to return, as soon as possible, which was exactly the problem. How long had it been? He couldn't even hazard a guess - as far as he knew the progression of time in Narnia deviated from linear whenever it could. It couldn't even be assumed that Narnian time went fast, because according to Eustace, the week between Tirian's appearance at the supper table and the train crash had taken all of five minutes in Narnia. Time moved very specifically, as though to ensure the visitors arrived at precisely the right time. Which, he thought dryly, was the case. Narnia called and they had to answer the call.

A loud moan interrupted his translation of a particularly tricky passage (King James had the most peculiar thoughts about Biblical language). Edmund closed the book with a snap and glanced at first the elderly man, who was sound asleep, then at the engineer. He was moaning in his sleep again. If it wasn't for the drugs, Edmund would have found having to share his room with such noise frustrating. Thankfully modern medicine dealt with it on a nightly basis.

The real trouble started to emerge when the words became more intelligible. Edmund focussed on whatever book he had handy (a few of the nurses brought books with them into the hospital, and so Edmund's education on the modern romance was considerably broadened), but there arrived a time when the nurses could no longer sedate the man like they ought to and then came the apologies, uttered at no one in particular, broken sobs and prayers offered into the ether.

At long last Edmund closed his book, annoyed at having to stop when the intrigue was just getting juicy, and turned towards the man.

"Speak," he said simply. "It's is far from ideal, but I was due to be ordained soon, so at this time you either wait for someone to visit you, or someone who's been ordained, or you speak to me now. I promise I won't judge you."

"Bless you, son," the man all but whimpered and Edmund listened to the broken confession for an hour. Words circled one another and there was no clear story to be heard, but one of terrible guilt and lack of understanding, on both their parts, as although Edmund knew the train schedule by heart, but the mechanical details were lost on him.

"I could swear to it in court," the engineer was saying, "that I was braking, I did everything I could, but there was a lion, it told me not to! Oh God, a lion. It was so huge, I swear I only closed my eyes for a minute, and there he was, and I thought what a strange dream and then I saw the print on my console. Dear lord, please forgive me!"

Edmund's mouth opened and remained open. He felt as though his veins had filled with ice and for a moment he couldn't move or think, as the words repeated themselves over and over in his mind. A lion told the man not to brake, he thought and something in him broke, threatening to erupt with a scream, a curse, anything. Then control poured rushing in, sweeping down the barriers like the tide sweeps the sandcastles on the shore. Edmund found, for the first time since he came to the hospital that he was acutely aware of every inch of his body; that he was in full command of himself. He could have risen and walked out, regardless of his broken bones.

"The lion spoke to you?" he asked, in a voice that was gentle and full of indulgent surprise, with just enough disbelief to be realistic and tempered with understanding that ensured the man would not grow defensive.

"Lord, our father, who art in heaven, oh Lord, forgive me," the man muttered and Edmund helped out by reciting the Lord's prayer, over and over, until the man calmed and muttered alongside him.

"The lion spoke to you?"

"It spoke, or perhaps I imagined it speaking," the man said. He turned to look at Edmund. "Said not to fear. Said there was a malfunction. Said there was nothing to fear, it had."

"I understand. It wasn't your fault," Edmund said serenely, though inside he was boiling.

The man breathed and whined for a few more minutes, but exhaustion soon set in and he slept, leaving Edmund to his thoughts.

Less than an hour later a nurse wandered by, to see whether they required anything. Edmund gave her a look like that of a frightened child, one he knew his boyish face carried well, and whispered, "Please, that man frightens me. He speaks in gibberish, some nonsense about animals and trains! Often I don't even understand what he says, but it sounds frightful."

Her face was a picture of compassion and Edmund was gratified when not even an hour later the engineer was taken away and another patient was wheeled into his place, another elderly gentleman who would spend all day drugged into oblivion.

Edmund lay back and waited for Susan to arrive. Susan must not hear the confession, and that it would have been repeated as the engineer became conscious more often Edmund was certain. So she would be kept unaware, until he knew what was to be done about it. True, she might not think much of it - she had denied Narnia's existence for years now; there was no guarantee she would recognise the signs even when they were bloody obvious, but Edmund wasn't willing to take the chance. A grieving mind was not one prone to logic.

Susan arrived shortly after visiting hours begun with a Heyer novel that Edmund had already read, and a bag of sweets. Her hair smelled of fresh air and cigarette smoke, no doubt one of her boyfriends had taken her for a walk, just before. There was a faint smudge of lipstick on her cheek, too, so perhaps this one was going to last longer than a fortnight.

"Turkish Delight, really?" he asked when he unwrapped the package.

"It used to be your favourite."

Edmund laughed. "Thank you. Tell me Su, were my things brought to the hospital? I had a bag with a box in it."

"I've got them. I threw the bag away. It was torn, bloodied, and worse."

Edmund felt his pulse quicken. "You took the box out first, though?"

"What kind of a fool do you think I am? Your papers, the box and the notebook, anything that could be salvaged. I don't think you would fuss about the handkerchief. It was beyond help."

"I won't. You are right."

"I did look inside the box, to make sure it was fine inside," Susan said slowly. "I'm sure Jane will wait for you to recover. We have spoken a little. I am certain she never thought of abandoning you."

It took Edmund a moment to realise how she made the connection. "The rings," he said at last. She thought he was planning to propose in short order, though how she leapt to that conclusion when there were so many rings in the box, he didn't understand. Unless she only peeked inside, and didn't notice the others, which he had taken care to wrap up.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Susan was saying meanwhile, and Edmund had to laugh. Nothing would be fine.

"No, Su. It is okay. Don't worry. Do you by any chance know when I will be allowed home?"

"Not for a couple more weeks, at least," Susan said.

"Am I to stay here the whole time?"

"You can't go home in the state you're in now! I can't carry you upstairs, so you'll have to stay here until you're mobile."

There was logic in that, Edmund supposed. Pity that his heart wouldn't respond to logic. Then there was the matter of the discussion they absolutely must have, which would be best conducted behind closed doors, where he could stand between Susan and the phone. Convincing her that he must return to Narnia was not going to be easy. Su could run as fast as he, if she left the high heels at home, so he didn't want to be handicapped in any way that would slow him down.

He needed time. The bruises that coloured most of him (the parts that he could see) were a sickly green, but these were of no concern. He could force his body to obey despite them. The casts were a far more serious matter, for he could push it, but a bone could only take so much before snapping and though he could crawl, when he was going to be up against stars and knights and worse, he would much rather have the full use of his limbs.

He needed time he might not have. What time was it in Narnia, he wondered, when Susan was gone and the pillow underneath his head stubbornly refused to be Caspian, even when the lights went out and the shapes of shadows on the wall could be anything, dragons, houses, boats.

He needed time to figure out where should he go from here. He was relatively sure he was safe in England, and if he was safe, Caspian was untouchable - stars couldn't cross between worlds, and the stars of his universe were no danger at all. At least he hoped they weren't. If they were conscious here, then they might have been capable of triggering explosions that could consume planets, but that seemed excessive. Whatever else they were prepared to do, Lilliandil at least had tried to avoid collateral damage; it was therefore safe to assume that the Earth was safe from cosmic revenge.

What remained? He could stay in England and stall, avoid death for as long as he could, but then what? He would die, eventually, and it would be no trouble at all to go from the other England to the other Narnia, and from there to the dead Narnia. So at most he had some fifty years, following which he would go to the place where most of the population wanted him deader than dead.

He needed time! He balled his fists and glared at the ceiling. Why was this so hard?

"Because I was very nearly killed in a crash caused by Aslan," he told himself, quietly, but previous experience indicated that short of screaming at top of his lungs he could get away with any volume that wouldn't alert the nurses. The two elderly men on either side of him slept like the dead.

So, Aslan had caused a train crash in England. He was hardly limited to the shape of a lion, had told them as much, so that he chose this form to appear in England sent a pretty clear message. This was about Narnia. Logically, then, it was about Edmund. Eustace and Jill could have been transported there any other way, while Lucy, Peter, Digory and Polly were too old. Plus, naturally, the entire world-changing mess seemed to hinge on killing Edmund. He wasn't being conceited by leaping to that conclusion.

"Why" became the most important question then. Why now? He would surely die in another thirty, forty years; why bother to speed up the process?

Unless… unless it was important that he die now. Unless he needed to be in heaven, which still was shaky, as the time was unequal in the two worlds, and even more so in Aslan's country. But suppose for a moment that it was about time. What else was dependent on time that he knew of?

Lillliandil, who was dying in Aslan's country. The world which was dead, but worlds apparently had very strong inertia. Words were written before a world was brought to life, so clearly that was the beginning, of sorts, and words were written after its end, so as to conclude it.

So, he had needed to die either before Lilliandil died in heaven, or before the dead world ended and disappeared. Possibly both.

So, Aslan killed his whole family, just to allow for the attack on him and Caspian.

Edmund prayed that there was another explanation, but he could think of none.


	10. Debris

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER TEN - Debris]

It was a cold morning, six weeks later, when the cast was taken off his right leg and Edmund was allowed on his feet for the first time since the crash. He was been given crutches and a stern warning, complete with x-ray photos, that he was to avoid standing on his left leg, and his right. At all if possible.

That wasn't possible, of course, especially as he was only able to use one crutch, due to the sorry state his right arm was in and he was determined to become mobile, even if he didn't need the x-rays to know it wouldn't happen overnight. The most he could do was hobble and try not to fall, with a nurse giving him the most evil look, when he attempted to stay out of bed longer than she deemed safe.

"It will take a while," she said as he caught him wandering the long, dim corridor at dusk for the third time. "It must, if you want the bone to heal properly."

Edmund was, at that point, too weak to even hear her words. Sweat was running down his face and yet he pushed, because his mind was driving him insane, and unless he became so tired he fell unconscious, he wouldn't sleep at all.

"Back to bed, and no more walking until the doctor allows," she said, not unkindly, and led him back to the room, where he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

iHe dreamet of a dark land spread before him, beautiful in its icy coldness. There was no wind to move the snow around, and so it remained pristine and glittering, in the strange silvery-blue light, which moved as though it were alive.

There was a presence at his side. Light emanated from it, cold silvery light, not unlike that which drove the night away.

"You've come," she whispered and Edmund felt cold fingers touch his mouth and slide onto his chest, into his chest, spreading the dreadful cold throughout him, and he could neither move nor speak, and there was such fright in him and her, such sorrow-/i

He sat up in the hospital bed, gasping for air. His head protested the sudden movement and he lost consciousness for a moment, for when he opened his eyes again he was flat on his back, when he didn't remember laying down.

At the very least, he told himself, they should be safe without him, even in the cold, dead Narnia. There was some consolation in that, until he recalled Caspian's face when he promised genocide and his thoughts suddenly lost their hopefulness.

Caspian wouldn't be harmed. He knew this and it brought him a measure of comfort. Caspian was a tremendous bastard, at times, but he was kind and generous, as a king should. The stars needed him whole and unspoiled, if their precious messiah was to be what they needed him to be.

Edmund pulled his mostly operational leg to his chest and rested his chin on the knee. They needed Caspian's soul, but would they still need it if it weren't quite so pure?

Interesting issue to consider, he thought as he fell back onto the bed.

He was allowed home not long afterwards, with a long list of things he was and wasn't to do. It seemed walking was chief among the latter. Edmund chose to disregard that. His right foot gave a twinge now and then, but it was steady. The left was more problematic.

"Next week we shall see about getting the cast off," the doctor said. "The pictures look promising. You ought to be able to walk freely in less than a month."

Another month! Edmund smiled at the doctor and thanked him, while internally screaming bloody murder, but of course he could do nothing, for Susan had insisted on hearing the instructions as well, and promised she would see them heeded.

Of course, they had to take a train home.

"Just when I was about to say I would never take the train again," Edmund said. He watched his reflection in the glass in the waiting room. It was like looking at a stranger - his head had been shaved at some point, to make way for stitches, whose marks stood out against the pale skin of his temple, only partly masked by the re-growing hair. He had lost weight in the hospital; hardly a surprise given what he was fed. There were dark shadows underneath his eyes. No wonder there, either, as his sleep had been erratic since he was taken off drugs.

"I wish I didn't have to." Susan tapped the toe of her slipper against the floor, watching the clock. She, at least, looked radiant. Edmund was glad for it. She would be fine, he knew.

"At least you don't have the urge to run when you're standing on the platform."

"I have the urge never to enter the station again."

It took them a couple of hours to get to their parent's house. By the time they walked through the door, late in the afternoon, Edmund was ready for a lengthy nap, possibly followed by a rest. He collapsed on the couch and let his eyes close. Just a short nap, he thought, then we would talk.

Just a moment of rest.

He woke a couple of hours later to the smell of chicken soup, the only thing that Susan could be trusted to cook. He didn't care if it was plain; it was better than anything he had to eat in the past month.

It took but one shared glance for them to decide to abandon their childhood rooms for the time being and spend the night in their parents' bedroom, which Susan had been using until Edmund returned home. It hurt less than looking at the empty beds, which hadn't been used in a long while, in Peter's and Edmund's case, but which held in them memories of thousands of nights spent whispering secrets across the space. Edmund didn't even try to walk in there, citing the long trek upstairs as his excuse to go straight to the bedroom.

"This is only a little awkward," Susan said, as they crawled into the wide bed on their respective sides. "Though I admit, much better than sleeping alone."

"Sometime in the future we're going to have to clean out the other rooms, too." That and more. There were finances to consider, something Susan rarely had the patience to do. There was the matter of ownership, of inheritance and wills, which Edmund suspected father had, which was only sensible during a war. There was the matter of making sure they would have a place to live, that there were funds to continue his studies and Susan's endeavours. The house would probably have to be sold, because far as Edmund knew whatever savings Father had would only see them through so far.

Su should hurry and marry into money, he thought, making himself comfortable. She was no crusader, and it would save her much trouble in the long run.

"I fully intend to wait until you are well enough to do it on your own," Susan said in the darkness, reaching out across the bed to hold his hand.

"Su," Edmund started, "There's the other thing."

"No."

"We are going to speak of it sometime."

"I don't want to!" Though the room was dark he could see her sit up in bed and turn to glare at him. "You wish to return to the fairy-tales and games of our childhood, which I understand is a comfort, but don't you think it's high time to move on?"

"You have not forgotten."

She was silent for a long while. "Of course I have not forgotten," she said at last. "But it is over and done now. We are too old, and I refuse to spend my life dreaming about fairy-tales."

Edmund refrained from commenting that some fairy-tales were readily replaced by others. He knew Susan well enough to know she was aware of it, even if she chose to deny. "Su, I have means to get back. And I will."

"It wasn't real! When will you stop this? Narnia was a lovely game, but it was just a game. You are not a king. There is no place where animals talk."

"You are in denial, Su," Edmund said gently. "You are right; we are too old. We must know what is real and what isn't, and Narnia is very much real."

"I don't believe you."

"I will prove it, if you give me the chance."

"Edmund, now is not the time. You are to get married and build a life here! Jane is waiting for you to propose. You are not far from finishing your studies. Stop day-dreaming already!"

"Sound advice, particularly the part about getting married." Susan, in Edmund's opinion, had been least likely to get married of the four of them, and that included the fact that Edmund's beloved was a man from another world and that Lucy had yet to formally discover the opposite gender existed (and, if her brothers had their way, would never make the discovery). Susan, despite the protests, had never forgotten her queenship and the grand tournaments held in her name. After such an introduction to romance, who could fault her for refusing to settle for pleasant, but boring, English men?

"Just what are you insinuating!"

"Doesn't matter. I need to tell you some things, and these won't be easy to hear."

Edmund spoke concisely when he wanted to, and thus he told Susan of the death of Narnia, of heaven and the terrible events within, in less than ten minutes. He wondered at the ease with which she overlooked that it was heaven he spoke of, and focussed instead on the important parts of the tale.

"Caspian's son tried to murder you?"

"Or his mother, depending on occasion. I know; we were all quite surprised."

"Pardon my surprise, but after your return the last time I gathered you and Caspian were good friends. Didn't you journey with him? Why would his family want you dead?"

Edmund laughed. "Yes, we are good friends, which we thought was the reason for their animosity."

"I don't think I quite understand their reasons, then. Oh, I understand that you men can be dreadfully insensitive, when you have your pals around, but you are almost civilised, and surely you wouldn't have the power to wreck a marriage, especially not when you were in another world."

"Caspian felt very strongly about it."

Thankfully, Susan accepted that as a reason and moved on.

Edmund was glad, because it was not the best subject to discuss with one's sister in bed at night, especially not when he suspected that part of the reason Susan couldn't settle was that she still remembered Caspian and found herself lovers to remind her of him. Not because of any actual feelings, at least not presently, but because he had been the fairy-tale - a beautiful young king, gallant and brave, who only had eyes for one maiden and would risk life and limb for her.

It spoke volumes for the differences between the two of them that, for him, Caspian was a rash, pigheaded git. Lord, how Edmund missed him.

"I also don't understand why would you want to go back, especially now," Susan was saying as he tried to push the image of Caspian into the back of his head. "You are safe here."

No, he wasn't, Edmund thought. "I worry what Caspian will get up to in my absence. I spent much of the time cooling his head," he said. "I expect open war between him and Peter - a bloody one. They cannot die, and I don't think they can do too much harm to one another, but there will be conflict and there is bound to be collateral damage."

"Well, whatever they planned on getting into, they surely already have."

"I know. I worry about that too." He let the worry colour his voice then. It was the truth - he worried, constantly, since we awoke, but even the worry wasn't half as crippling as the emptiness. How he was able to bear it after returning from the Dawn Treader he did not fully remember - it had been like a painful wound that left a deep scar, which impeded some of his movements, but then he had found Caspian again, in a place where they weren't separated by physical bodies, and now the absence at his side was tearing him apart.

"But Ed, we are too old. Even if it was real, and I'm not saying it is, Aslan said we are too old. We cannot return."

Edmund grinned in the darkness, and for one the grin was not pleasant. "I know, but this concerns me. I must go. I'm sure Aslan wouldn't mind." And if he did, well, Edmund was dying to have a conversation on the subject. If nothing else, then to ask why would the great lion fail so utterly, and why would Edmund be punished with the sight of Peter's dead body, surely losing him would have been enough.

"Ed," Susan said. She was on the verge of sleep. "All right. If it pleases you, I shall promise I will go. However, you too must promise that you won't try to leave until you are well enough to travel."

"I didn't ask you to go with me."

"If you are stupid enough, if you need it to grieve, I will indulge you and I will make sure you don't hurt yourself in the process."

"We will need warm clothes and provisions," he said very quietly. "The world is cold."

"Splendid," she murmured and then fell asleep.

Edmund watched her for a long time. She was peaceful in her sleep, with nary a horror marring her dreams. "I'm sorry," he said, before his eyes closed and he, too, fell asleep.

His convalescence took more time than he felt he could afford, especially when his mind was busy thinking up the various disasters Caspian could draw down upon their heads in his fury. Not for the first time, he wondered how could they have thought it a good idea to put the temperamental Telmarine on the throne, when he could scarcely be threatened to lose a lover before declaring war on an entire race of people in retaliation.

No, Edmund thought wryly. It was anything but a good idea. All the more important then to get back to Narnia, before irreparable damage was done.

This, in turn, prompted a long, wheezing laugh. For that he would require a time machine, and given his luck, instead of returning to the past he would wind up in the future so distant, people would grow each other like cattle. Irreparable damage had already been done. Now he needed to make sure it could be contained, however impossible the task seemed.

He flexed his right wrist and hissed. The cast had finally come off, not two days before, but he was under strict orders not to strain it. What it meant, he discovered as soon as he exited the hospital, was that he couldn't move it at all. What it meant, in broader terms, was that his fist wouldn't close, that he couldn't lift anything heavier than an apple, and that if he bumped against anything at all, he had to pause and breathe, in order not to faint.

"I thought the cast was to come off today?" Susan said when she returned home, only to discover him fiddling with the radio, the cast again on his arm.

"It did. I kept it, just in case." It had been sawn through, but if he was careful it could still serve. "I worried I might jolt it by accident."

"The bone should be healed by now."

"It was an open break, Su. I don't wish to test its limits so soon."

"You are going to test it sometime. Why not here, where hospital care is easily available?"

"Since when are you reasonable?"

"Someone has to be."

Edmund snorted and returned to glaring at his hand. It would obey, he kept repeating over and over, by force, by persuasion, by strength of will; his own hand would obey his command, no matter how it hurt. This time his fingers twitched and curled. "This is much harder than I thought."

Susan watched him for the longest time. "I have seen you shrug in the face of a dagger wound to the heart. You broke your leg in the tournament in Archenland, once; Peter had to threaten to tie you to the bed to keep you down." Her eyes lost their misty quality then, when she returned from their life in Narnia back to England. "I have seen you bleed all over the floor when you hit your forehead against the fireplace, and yet you wouldn't stop running."

"There's some point to this reminiscing, I presume?"

"The point is: what happened, Ed?"

"As for the first two, I would like to remind you that we were at most a couple of days away from Lucy's cordial, so no wound was scary then. As to the other, as I recall I was four at the time."

"I don't like this," Susan said. "I wish you would wait until you are properly healed."

"This might take a year, or more," Edmund said. "I'm told the chance of a renewed break within a year is high, as the bone is likely to be weak."

"So your solution is to wander into open conflict, with people who you tell me could best Peter without even taking a hit?"

"I can't wait that long!" Edmund stood and glared at Susan. "I can hardly wait another day! It's killing me, Su. I can't breathe!"

She was silent and he trembled, until he looked down and a strange kind of calm descended. His right hand was curled into a fist, and it hurt, lord, did it hurt, but it responded to his commands at long last.

"When did you plan on leaving?" Susan asked.

"A week."

"A month."

"Eight days."

"Two weeks, Ed. That's my final word."

"Fine." Two weeks was too much. A week was too much. Frankly, Edmund thought as he watched his fingers spasm as he flexed them, an hour felt like an eternity. He would honour the agreement, however. Two weeks, to the day.

He whiled the days away cleaning out the house, while Susan went to work. He wasn't quite up to the task yet. He got tired far too easily, and the less was said about his mental state, the better, but he forced himself to go through Peter's and Lucy's clothes, to throw out what was too old and pack what wasn't to be delivered to those could use them. He packed away Lucy's fairy-tales and Peter's books, her dolls (all three of them) and his aeroplanes. He gathered the pictures they had all painted one afternoon, a few years before the war broke out. He burned those in the fireplace.

There were papers in their parents' bedroom; deeds to the house, Father's will and more. There was a little money, though more than Edmund expected, deposited in a bank. He and Susan decided to put the house up for sale. To their surprise they found a buyer sooner than they expected - so soon, in fact, that they weren't quite ready to move out. Fortunately the interested party agreed to wait.

That was it, then, Edmund thought as he packed the last box from his and Peter's room. Some of the things they were taking along with them - he would be returning to the dorms for the remainder of his studies, while Susan would stay with Aunt Alberta, until she found a place of her own.

It was a blessing that she wasn't home when Edmund sorted their things. He had set aside a couple boxes of his things, just to maintain the pretence, but the effort he was willing to put into pretending he was coming back was very limited.

When he was done with cleaning and the house was empty and cold, Edmund sat on the bed and stared at the wall, free of pictures, and the knick-knacks he and Peter had hung up at various times of their lives and never got around to taking down. He'd thrown most of them away.

"Someone had to sign the death warrant, Pete," he said out loud, for no particular reason.

"You shouldn't even have known about this kind of things. You are a child," Peter's voice replied in his memory.

Peter had considered it his greatest failure, Edmund later realised; that the very first warrant for a man's death when they ruled Narnia - there was a modicum of comfort in the knowledge that he had been a murderer and that there had been no question about his guilt - had been signed by Edmund and carried out before the High King could return from a hunting trip.

He had been twelve. He had seen to the execution himself.

After the White Witch had been defeated, humans had swarmed into Narnia. Well, not so much swarmed, perhaps, but there were enough who remembered they hailed from the land, whose ancestors had survived the purge, and who were eager to return. Not all of them had been worth keeping, and plenty didn't take well to the court ruled by four children. They'd had very little time to get used to the idea that adults were not always to be trusted, that their splendid, horrifying, bloody victory was only the beginning of the war that was kingship.

Edmund shook his head. Peter would rather march against giants over and over than become tangled in the politics of ruling the country, which had been just as well. Narnia needed a magnificent king to recover after the reign of the White Witch, and Peter fitted the bill. Lucy couldn't be sullied by the dirty business, despite her occasional vengeful heroics, and Susan was too kind-hearted to even think about putting a man to death. Edmund hadn't had the heart to mind, when there had been no one else to do it.

Even that had been a lie.

"Edmund," Peter had said again, taking a seat on the chair opposite. Edmund had rarely seen him so miserable. "I was going to do it, as soon as I returned. You shouldn't have gone behind my back."

"No. You were going to have a hot bath after you returned and then you were going to listen to the news of what transpired in your absence. You were going to hope he died in his cell in the meantime." Edmund had hesitated and clenched his hands around the armrests of his chair. They wouldn't stop shaking. "It had to be done."

Peter had touched the golden circlet in his hair and stepped around the table, to grip Edmund's shoulders. "Thank you, brother," he had said.

Later that night Edmund had cried himself to sleep. He'd thought it'd been necessary. His hands had shaken badly, though he'd managed to hide most of it when he watched the headsman take a swing and with it the prisoner's head. He hadn't blinked. He'd watched as they took the body away, loaded it onto a cart and took it outside, to bury the man where no one would see or think of him again, and on his tongue he tasted powdered sugar and rose water.

He had woken in the middle of the night, calm and peaceful, and watched the moon shine into his chamber, watched it stare into his face and he knew that the moon saw no sadness and no guilt there.

There had been none. He had condemned a man to death; he had seen him die and there was no guilt, no doubt in him. He had been right. The single act had tempered some of the more patronising advice (he deemed it paternal) dispensed by the lord Balnor, who couldn't have been less subtle about desiring the position of high lord chancellor, to whom most major decisions in the country fell. Edmund recalled the look on his face, as he had come to witness the execution, no doubt expecting Edmund to call it off at the last moment.

Even Lucy had noticed Balnor had quieted.

It had been gratifying to see some of the human courtiers give him a wider than usual berth, afterwards. It had been exciting to see them avoid his gaze, whenever he was angry and let it be known. It had been terrifying, shameful, horrid, and the taste of sugar and snow never left his mouth, even as he learned to affect a childish innocence in dealings with others.

He had fooled even Peter with his doe-eyed looks, even if he had had to suffer coddling and tearful apologies and promises to take up the mantle that Edmund had needed to see unkept.

"Pete." In the silence of their shared childhood room the name was loud as a curse. "You bloody bastard," Edmund said, but he said it fondly.

The situation really was simple, he thought in wonder as it unravelled in his thoughts. The stars must have their saviour, else there would be no peace for either him or Caspian. For that reason he needed to die in Narnia, to spare everyone the long and pointless search throughout Aslan's country.

He picked up a pen from the desk and attempted to twirl it in the fingers of his right hand, like he had done whenever the occasion demanded a letter and inspiration was scarce, but such tricks proved too much for his damaged hand. Writing was just enough of a challenge to keep him occupied until Susan returned.


	11. Then on the Earth Partially Reclining

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER ELEVEN]

"Should we pack water?"

"There's snow."

"I have matches and chocolate. Some bread, though that won't be much good if it's as cold as you say. Sleeping bags, and extra gloves."

"Butane?"

"Of course. As much as we can carry, but it's not much."

"We have the rings; we can always leave Narnia and look for provisions elsewhere."

Susan didn't look convinced. "Time is working against us then."

"We'll manage."

"Are you ill? That almost sounded like optimism."

"I have been in a train crash."

"How long is that excuse going to last?"

"As long as I can make it." Edmund tightened the fastening of his backpack, which was smaller than Susan's. She wasn't convinced by his insistence that everything was fine. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose."

They were standing in the middle of their living room. Though it was cold outside, it was only the British autumn, which meant that outside they only needed to turn their collars up and maybe add a scarf, and they were both wrapped in snow-jackets and trousers. Yet Susan's hair was brushed and coiffed and there was the hint of lipstick on her mouth. She could always be trusted to maintain a sense of effortlessness; if all else failed, Edmund could count on Susan to look as though the effort was hardly worth mentioning.

"The way I'm told this works," Edmund said as he opened the box, "is that the yellow rings will take us to a wood between worlds. Digory said there are pools there, and each pool is its own world."

"I suppose it is no less crazy than finding a whole world in a wardrobe."

"Here." Edmund handed Susan a green ring from the box. "Put that in your right pocket. Digory said the green ones only work when you are jumping into a pool, so that's not going to be a problem."

"Unless I get robbed."

"I have spares. The green ones are quite useless, until we get to the wood, anyway." Edmund carefully shook out a yellow ring onto the coffee table, put the box into his back pack and grasped Susan's hand. "Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

As soon as he touched the ring, the world became muddled, as though a milky glass had descended between them and the room in which they stood. Edmund felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach, as though they were moving, and he tightened his hand around Susan's. He was relieved when she squeezed back.

It was seconds later, but they were long seconds, when they surfaced in the most serene forest Edmund had ever had the pleasure of seeing. It was quiet and golden, the kind of place where it is always a sunny, summer Sunday afternoon.

"It's beautiful," Susan said in a hushed voice.

Edmund had to agree. He would have loved nothing more than to lie down under a tree and watch the sun filter through the leaves. Nothing seemed important, not here.

He shook his head. "Digory said this would happen. Come, we need to find Narnia."

"Every pool a world, did you say?" Susan said, in a changed voice. Edmund looked around and his heart sank. There were hundreds of pools, each one indistinguishable from the other, save for the one from which they had just emerged, which had a strip of grass around it cut away. It looked fresh, as though it had only been done minutes previously, though Edmund knew from the tales that Digory had been a child of eleven when he'd done it.

"It can't be too far," he said, looking around. "Digory said he and Polly emerged from England - our pool - together with Jadis on a horse, a cabbie and his uncle, and the horse wandered into a nearby pool, to drink, and they all followed. So, if they emerged from here…"

There were three pools in the immediate vicinity, which a horse could easily approach.

"Should we just try them in turn?" Susan asked.

"There's only three," he said doubtfully. Then something else caught his attention. A little to the left there was something that might have been a pool once, but had grass growing into it, so that the remains of water were only visible when the sunshine hit it just right. "Or four."

"That's very nearly ground," Susan said.

"Narnia is a dead world. Almost dead."

"Seems about right."

"Shall we, then?"

"I had really hoped you were going to propose," Susan said wearily as she took out the green ring from her pocket and put it on her finger. "Mother has been dropping the most dreadful hints about children and I have the perfect dress to wear to your wedding."

Edmund couldn't stop the laughter then. It proved to be infectious, and together he and Susan laughed until their sides hurt. "Why was that so funny?" she asked when they straightened and wiped away the tears.

"No idea." Edmund turned to the pond. "Let's go. I'm kind of hot."

Hand in hand they stepped into the pool, but the magic took hold long before their boots touched its surface and they were falling through, into another world. The golden-green light illuminated their way down, gradually dissipating in the silvery darkness, until the sky was full of stars and the landscape around them glittered with reflected light.

They stood on an endless white plain, untouched by human life. Above, there was nothing but the stars, before them nothing but snow. Edmund took a shuddering breath and was blinded by the white mist that escaped his mouth. The silence was absolute; each heartbeat thundered in his chest as though it were a cathedral bell.

"This is Narnia?" Susan said in horror. Her face was whiter than the snow and it was only partly because of the cold. Her hand trembled in Edmund's and she might have cried, but the vicious cold must have told her it would not be a good idea to have moisture on her face.

"Unfortunately."

"It really ended."

"Well, plenty of it is still around." This earned him a smack on the head.

"Don't joke."

The started walking eventually, as the cold was far too biting to allow for lengthy pauses. Edmund wasn't sure of the precise direction, but it was light enough to see for miles, and there was a hill up ahead, far in the distance, that looked like it might be the How, bereft of trees and illuminated by the unfamiliar skies. How fortunate that they were transported so close, Edmund thought and his heart beat all the stronger, for somehow he knew that every step was bringing them closer home.

A screech cut through his musings.

Edmund jerked his head up and took a wrong step. His ankle wobbled and he skidded on the ice and he fell, pulling Susan with him. This was fortunate, in a way, as the fall took her from the range of the great talons, which clutched at the empty air. Edmund saw the creature sail a little way further, than turn against the starry sky.

"Edmund! Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine," he said, getting up slowly, to avoid putting weight on his left leg. That had been dangerous and it was about to get worse. Two more creatures had been lurking in the shadows between the stars on the sky and were presently coming towards them. Edmund regretted not having packed a sword, or a gun, or even a knife. Strange how far his mind strayed from swords in England.

"I think we should run," Susan said.

"Agreed."

Edmund started running and she matched his pace with ease, though it wouldn't be long before she would have to pull him forth, as he could already feel the strain upon his freshly healed legs. Time was against him, always against him.

A dragon landed on the snow before them, reared its head and roared, as Edmund tried to get between its dripping fangs and Susan, but then a sword flashed through the night and its head rolled to the ground.

Edmund held out a hand and Caspian pulled him close until they were finally wrapped in one another. There was no tenderness there, no gentle reassurance; Edmund was acutely aware of the hilt of the sword against the small of his back, even through the thick jacket, of teeth against his lower lip and cold fingers digging into his side. His right arm - thankfully he had the foresight to keep the cast on - was caught between them at an awkward angle, groaning under the strain, but all that didn't matter, when he could claw weakly at Caspian's chest; they were back, he was back, and this time there would be nothing at all to stand in their way.

Caspian hiccoughed, which may have been a strangled sob, but it ended up in laughter, when the hitch caused their teeth to bump and they broke apart, just far enough to allow for speech, and laughed and cried at the same time.

He was home.

"What on earth are you wearing, you moron," Edmund asked, when it occurred to him that he was clutching the collar of Caspian's shirt, and that he wore no other garments. "It's bloody cold!"

"Susan!" someone yelled from behind Caspian's back, and Edmund half-turned to find Susan, frozen in a look of utter shock, which quickly turned into tears as Lucy and Peter both enveloped her in a hug.

"You don't look well," Caspian said, finally deigning to take even half a step back. He brushed his thumb against Edmund's mouth. Edmund realised the coppery taste on his tongue was blood, probably from a split lip.

"Oh, thank you. I needed that," he groused, even as Caspian laughed and licked the blood off his finger. He kissed him again, slower and more gently, lapping at the cut as though he was a cat trying to heal it.

It was a low growl that finally brought Edmund to his senses. Somewhere to the left another of the dragons was crawling towards them, and though the carcass was likely his primary intention, soon there would be more of them to worry about. High above the dark creatures were circling, and they seemed to be getting bigger with every passing moment.

"Inside," Peter said shortly.

They hurried towards the cave's entrance, some of them looking fearfully over their shoulders.

"How long has it been?" Edmund asked, as soon as the outside light dissolved in the utter darkness of the How.

"We don't know. A while," Lucy said. "It had been pretty quiet, save for the occasional creature to kill, we've been bored. I don't think it was too long though."

Far in the corridor there was light and soon they stepped into the chamber of the Stone Table, where Eustace and the rest were seated upon the makeshift chairs.

"How long had it been for you?" Peter asked, curiously. He held Susan's backpack in one hand, the other was wrapped around her waist. Lucy walked on her other side, clutching her arm. Both of them, like Caspian, had ignored the need for warmth, as they were only wearing thin shirts.

"Eighty-two days, or thereabouts." Edmund sank onto a stone gratefully. His leg was bothering him. It wasn't painful and it was fully functional, but there was a prelude to pain, a kind of dull throb, that started in the ankle and occasionally sent waves as high up as his hip. Soon it would start giving out underneath his weight and then he would really be in trouble.

Thankfully, it was warmer here. Not nearly warm enough to be comfortable, but at least he didn't need to breathe shallowly for fear of hurting his throat. He started to undo his jacket only to find that the cast on his arm prevented him from shedding the backpack. He cursed and turned at least twice, before Caspian took hold of the straps and relieved him of the luggage, and then the jacket.

Then came the matter of disentangling Lucy from his waist. She had latched onto him the moment the jacket was off and refused to let go, even when Jill and Eustace joined in on the hug over her head. Peter merely ruffled his hair, though that might have been because there was no visible part of Edmund left to hug. His hand lingered in Edmund's hair and Edmund was glad to find that he didn't feel the burning need to leap away from the touch.

"What happened to you?" Caspian asked, staring fixedly at the cast.

"Train," Edmund said. "Then a hospital."

"Train," Peter said. "The train? The one to Bristol?"

"The very same."

"But it was such a long time ago! We've been here for ages!"

"Definitely the same train," Edmund said, frowning as the memories of the station came flooding back. He couldn't recall the actual accident (he was more than a little grateful for that), but the aftermath was stark and vivid in his memory.

"What is a train?" Caspian and Emeth both asked.

"A kind carriage. A very long one, only with no horses and a lot faster," Eustace said. "You look awful, by the way," he told Edmund.

"Thank you, I noticed." There were ants matching up and down his right arm, from the tips of his fingers all the way to the shoulder. A spasm of pain twisted his face when he tried flexing his fingers.

"How did you get here?"

"Magic rings," Susan said, holding up her hand. The green band glistened in the magical light. She was pale and despite the jacket, which still hung loosely around her shoulders, she was shaking. Edmund swore under his breath and went to sit by her. She turned her face into his shoulder and shook even harder.

"Don't cry," he whispered into her hair. "Su, it's fine. Everyone is well."

Lucy, thankfully, seemed to realise the trouble. She came to sit on Susan's other side, as she used to back home. "It's fine, it really is," she said. "I'm alright, see? We are fine."

"It is not," Susan said, hiccoughing to get her tears under control. "You died! All of you! Edmund, when I got the news, they told me he was in surgery, that he was badly hurt and might still die!" She let out a sob into the utter silence. "I had to go and see you, dead!"

Lucy wrapped herself around Susan tightly, as though to dispel the gloom of the vision. "I am fine, Su. Peter is fine. Don't cry."

"Right now we are better than Edmund looks, that's for sure," Peter said. He was angry, by the tone of his voice, but he came to sit by Susan as well. "We are so happy to see you," he said with feeling.

"Is that a royal we, or are you speaking for the room?"

"I'm talking for myself and Lucy, certainly. Eustace and Jill too, I presume. I cannot speak on Emeth's behalf, as I do not believe you have been introduced."

Edmund looked across the room, to where Caspian was perched on a stone. His dark eyes bore into Edmund, as though there was nothing else of interest. His expression was impassive, and Edmund knew that the empty space Peter left hanging in the air was deliberate. There had been conflict since his disappearance, he surmised. He didn't need to expend much effort to determine the causes - Peter was quick to anger, there had certainly been words exchanged between him and Caspian that had bordered on outright hostility in the place of the usual banter and presto, they had an open feud, when one blamed the other for his disappearance and no one was able to settle the argument to anyone's satisfaction, or even offer a distraction to absorb them.

Susan, meanwhile, stood. She rubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweater and walked to Emeth, holding out her hand. "I am very pleased to meet you, Emeth," she said with the air of the great queen she used to be. "I am Susan Pevensie."

"Queen Susan the Gentle," Emeth said, taking her hand with a courtly bow. "You honour me."

She turned to Caspian then who gave her hand a surprised look, then hugged her instead. "It is good to see you, Susan."

"I would say likewise, except there is clearly much I haven't been told," she said icily. "Just how long have you been depraving my brother?"

"Most of my life, though I confess it has become much easier now that he is in physical proximity," Caspian said pleasantly.

"This is not a matter for levity!"

"It is also not a matter for open debate," Edmund said, getting up faster than he probably should have. "Su, I am sorry. It is what it is. And you," he added turning to Caspian, "do me a kindness and never speak another word for as long as you live."

"As you wish."

"He 'felt strongly' about this? Really?" Susan hissed at him, fire blazing in her eyes.

"Well, it's not like I could have said anything else, could I?"

Susan opened her mouth, closed it, counted to ten (her eyes would flicker to the sides every time she did, Edmund had learnt to see the signs back when she was learning how to count - how these things remained in his head, it was remarkable) and let out a breath. "I would have you be honest," she said. "Instead, you make me look a fool. To think that I encouraged Jane to propose to you!"

Now it was Edmund's turn to gape.

"Excuse me?"

"You weren't deafened in the crash, as far as I was told."

"Are you crazy?"

"Which one of us is canoodling with ihim/i?"

"Definitely Edmund," Caspian said. There was the odd mixture of amusement and jealousy in his voice. "I rather think I would be able to tell the difference."

"What did I say about not speaking!"

"Edmund, are you mad?" Susan asked again, but he just shook his head.

"My abysmal mental state aside, what news? I see no one has been killed in my absence."

"It is peculiar," Peter agreed. "The stars retreated as soon as they saw you were really gone. They chose to devote their time to looking instead. If I had known killing you was such a prize, I might have used it as a bargaining chip long before."

"You mean to say there has been no trouble?"

"I never said that. There had been trouble. Everyone suspected we have hidden you away, so there are search parties all over the world, which is the only reason we haven't had a visit from the army yet, I expect." Peter shook his head. "Why did you come, Ed?"

"I was worried."

"Well, no offence to your worries, but you shouldn't have. I have half a mind to send you home this minute."

"No offence to your half a mind, but no."

"You are not safe here."

"Nobody is safe here," Jill said. "We had at least one skirmish with the stars once you were gone, thankfully Rilian called them off. They didn't look too concerned with our well-being."

"What if we all left?" Eustace said. "Digory said one ring is enough to take a number of people through. We could leave here and hide in our world."

"I don't think it would be quite so simple," Edmund said, shaking his head. "It doesn't seem right to leave the matter wide-open."

"Says the man who inspired a world-wide manhunt."

"I've given it some thought. I had plenty of time, believe me. Even if I had stayed in England, it'd have been a matter of time before I got back here. What difference does it make, if I stay away for decades instead of days? That, and it won't be long before the search expands," Edmund said casually. "Stars are everywhere, after all."

"Do you think this feud would cross into England?" Eustace asked.

"I would have made it my priority, in Rilian's place."

"Wonderful. Tell me, then, is there a point to your presence?"

"Is the pleasure of my company not the point?"

There was silence. Peter's eyes bore into him. "Ed, what happened? Why did you return?"

Edmund looked at the floor before him. "I should have died in the train crash. I wish I had. Don't," he added when Peter opened his mouth to speak. "I beg you. Never ask me what happened. Not once."

Peter gave him a long, searching look, but nodded. He knew, Edmund thought; he knew because he was Peter and that was how he reacted to one of his siblings being endangered.

The rest looked between the two of them with questions in their eyes, but they said nothing. Edmund turned to look at them all, but the light flickered and he couldn't see their faces too clearly. He turned towards the magical vial in surprise, and it shone bright and true, but all of sudden there was a black spot in front of it, blocking the light. Oh, he thought. That cannot be good. He stumbled to the nearest flat surface and lay down on the cold stone, focusing on the uneven ceiling rather than the whirling of the floor.

Icicles were hanging overhead, reflecting the bluish light in fine spots, as though it was not a ceiling at all, but a limitless sky full of stars. Shouldn't the image frighten him, he wondered, when the stars of this world wished him so much harm? Perhaps it should. It didn't. He watched the light dance and found it beautiful.

"Edmund?" someone asked, eclipsing the wondrous play of light on the ice.

"No, don't come too close," Susan was saying. "He needs to breathe."

"We don't, Su," Peter said.

"Oh."

"I know. We are still adjusting."

"I'm fine," Edmund said. Above his head the lights twinkled and wasn't there a tune to accompany the dance?

"When did you last sleep?" Susan asked, consulting her watch.

"At night?"

"We left late in the afternoon, oh, you idiot! It is four in the morning!"

"You don't seem too sleepy."

"I am not recovering from a major trauma. You need to eat, and you need to sleep."

"As you command," Edmund said, trying to sit up. He found himself pulled up unceremoniously until his head spun and then lifted, as though he weighed nothing at all. "What on earth!"

"Sleep," Caspian commanded, adjusting his hold, and if Edmund wasn't feeling like the world was dropping from beneath his feet he would have hit him. He was no maiden to rescue in such a flamboyant fashion. "Frankly, I am tempted to agree with Peter, you shouldn't have come."

"There are a lot of things I shouldn't have done," Edmund said darkly as he was carried out of the chamber, "yet here we are."

He couldn't see where they were going, only that after some minutes Caspian took a turn and walked into what had to be a room, judging by the way their voices carried. "Sleep," Caspian said, setting him down on unfolded blankets. "We can talk tomorrow."

"What tomorrow?"

"We can talk when you wake up, then. Is that better?"

Caspian disappeared for a few moments and returned with his backpack. "You should eat," he said, but Edmund was too tired. He managed to swallow a couple piece of chocolate, unfold his sleeping bag, and he was asleep.

Edmund woke up, or at least dreamed that he woke up. His gaze met with complete darkness, so thick he found that he needed to touch his eyes to make sure they were open.

"Why are you staring?" he asked out loud. There was warmth of a body at his side, though how he knew he was being watched, how Caspian could see anything, Edmund had no idea.

"You've changed," was the answer.

"It wasn't that long."

"You're sadder. You've lost weight. Then there's this."

Edmund felt a light touch on the side of his head, trailing the scar from the eyebrow to behind the ear. "Does it offend you?" he asked quietly.

"A little. I should like to kill whoever gave it to you."

"It's not quite so simple," Edmund said, thinking of lions and trains and the sight of his own bone, protruding through the flesh of his arm.

Caspian smiled and nestled his head against Edmund's neck. "If you're asking if I mind the sight, the answer is no. It makes you look older. More like you." He sighed and his breath moved Edmund's collar. "Why are you so sad?"

"Lucy and Eustace and Jill - my parents, too - they all died in the crash. I didn't see them die, I don't think I ever got around to thinking of them as dead." It was so hard to speak, almost as hard as it was to remember. "It was Peter. He's such a fool."

"I have observed as much, yes."

Edmund frowned and jabbed Caspian, hard. This was no joke. "I think he saved me. I think he put himself in harm's way for my sake, and it killed him."

"It also killed you, how else would you appear in Aslan's country alongside him?"

"How would I disappear, if I wasn't alive?"

There was a rustle of fabric and Caspian was above him, pressing his mouth to the scar on his head. "I missed you. It was so bleak when you were gone, I thought I might break and disappear." His mouth traced the outline of Edmund's ear as he whispered. "I went looking for Rilian when I couldn't find you, begged him to kill me then and there, because I couldn't stand your absence any longer."

"One would think you were a girl, the things you say sometimes," Edmund said even as he sank into the feel of Caspian's neck beneath his lips, into the roaring of his pulse, the sharp, salty smell of him. He had drowned in it all a long time ago; the surface was nothing but a memory and he gladly fell deeper with every breath. "One would think you are too fond of romance novels."

"I did wonder," Caspian said, pulling up Edmund's sweater over his head. "If you were a woman, I would have had a much easier time keeping you, back on the Dawn Treader."

"I don't think that even deserves a reply."

"No, I have considered that quite carefully. You would have been with a child long before we were even done with the journey, and then you would have had to stay."

"I rather doubt it. If I were a woman, you would have been too busy romancing my cousin," Edmund said. "Unless we are positing a scenario in which our genders are reversed, in which case there would have been Lucy."

"I wouldn't dare to go after Lucy," Caspian said, an Edmund had to agree. He'd entertained murderous thoughts about men and boys who looked at her with anything other than genuine friendship, in either world. "Besides, who would I fight with? She is much too pleasant."

"I was rather surprised you never tried seducing Peter, if a fight was what you were after."

Caspian had managed to get the cast off his arm and paused at the sorry sight beneath. Edmund flexed his fingers and Caspian nuzzled into the palm of his hand, then mouthed along the thick scar tissue, which ran across the bone, halfway between wrist and elbow. "Ridiculous."

"Certainly." Edmund let out a brief laugh. "But you fight so often, one must wonder what is it that drives you, when there is little genuine animosity."

"I have the utmost respect for Peter," Caspian said.

"Liar."

"It was worth a try. Let me try again, then. I do love him; he is your brother, and therefore he is my family as well. As brothers, I thought it natural that we fight."

"It is comforting."

In the darkness Caspian grinned wickedly. "If you're asking if I find him handsome, however, I must say I do."

Edmund dug his teeth into Caspian's shoulder, suckled on the skin hard enough to make a vivid mark. "You are a beast."

"Oh yes." The s trailed away, slippery and sizzling.

How strange that Caspian was so heated, Edmund thought in a daze, arching into his touch, when there was snow and ice in the cavern. Perhaps it wasn't quite so cold. He sat up, dislodging Caspian in the process, only to find that the temperature around them was far too low for his comfort. "How is it that you are not cold?" he asked accusingly, burrowing back into the sleeping bag. "I'm freezing!"

Caspian let out a breathy laugh, but crawled up to shield Edmund from the cold. "Is this better?"

"Marginally," Edmund said. "Again, how are you not cold?"

"I don't know. I was fairly distraught after your disappearance; we all were. I ran outside without bothering about clothes, to search, then we realised the cold doesn't do us much harm, when after an hour or so of stumbling in the snow and yelling we could still easily have gone on."

"That does make sense."

"I feel the cold," Caspian said, settling comfortably with a leg on either side of Edmund's thigh. "I just learned not to mind."

"That is something to look forward to." Edmund trembled, came undone at Caspian's touch. The temperature didn't bother him any more; his skin was on fire, every nerve, every pore burned, for Caspian, because of Caspian, with Caspian.

"You shouldn't have come," Caspian whispered into his ear. "It was foolish," he told Edmund's collarbone. "You are not well." His beard tickled Edmund's sternum.

"Name one thing that presently is well," Edmund managed.

"It doesn't seem right to add to the misery, then."

Edmund clenched his eyes shut, though in the darkness it made no difference at all.

"You don't seem too upset at my return," he said, when his breath slowed down enough to allow for speech. Caspian stretched beside him, pulled him close. Their bodies aligned in the darkness, an awkward fit in the narrow sleeping bag, but it was a closeness Edmund wouldn't have traded for the most luxurious royal bedroom.

"You disappeared before our very eyes," Caspian said. He was breathless, restless, inconsolable. Edmund wrapped his arms around him, soothed as best he could. He kissed the crown of his head, combed his fingers through his hair, pressed his lips against Caspian's mouth until at last his breath quieted. "We didn't know what had befallen you, whether you were taken by Rilian, or Aslan, or some other force. I am thankful to see you alive, even if I do agree that it might have been safer had you stayed in the other world."

"You wished I wouldn't return?"

Caspian allowed himself a moment of reflection. "Now that I know you were safe all the while, yes."

"If by safe you mean recovering from a serious accident." Edmund sighed. "No, I don't think I am safe, being away from you."

The only answer was a puff of warm air against his cheek. Edmund could wager a guess as to what was going through Caspian's mind, for it occupied his, as well. They had so little hope, one had to make use of whatever was there.

Edmund smiled at nothing in particular. "I did have an idea."

"Let us hear it."

"The dragons," he said. "I take it there aren't many of them around?"

"We had the occasional skirmish, but for the most part the stars drove them away. There must be a lot of them. We saw them in the distance often."

"Do the stars kill them?"

"Far as I was able to see if they expend the effort, yes, but it seemed to me they are just as frightened of the creatures as the creatures are of them."

"Excellent. It is more than I hoped for."

"You mean to use them," Caspian said slowly. There was dread in his voice, but also curiosity. "You mean to have them for your armies."

"I do. Eustace got to control one, I saw the others react. I believe it would extend to them all, if someone determined enough tried the trick again. They are made of the same stuff, after all."

"Frightful, wrong stuff."

"I know," Edmund said. His voice was light. "But there is so little that we can do otherwise, and in any case how hard can it be to resist the influence of dragon-like creatures? They aren't intelligent, are they? No, hear me out." He took Caspian's face in his hands, a gesture completely lost for the lack of light to see by. All the better. "I have seen this stuff before, I am certain. With the White Witch. I can conquer it. I know what to expect, I know what it does. I can do it. I have done it, once before."

"You were rescued then."

"I'm far from claiming I rescued myself in any capacity. What I did was foolish and malicious, but I had seen her do evil, and I rebelled against it."

"I do not like this. There must be some other way to vanquish the stars."

"The stars aren't my biggest concern at the moment."

Caspian frowned. "I don't understand."

"Aslan was on the tracks when my family died," Edmund said. "Given how rare it is for lions to wander across the British railway system, I presume his presence there had a purpose. I spoke with the man who drove the train, he swore up and down that a lion told him to do so, and there are no talking beasts in England. Aslan was there to see me dead, I'm sure of it."

Caspian stared at him. Edmund half-suspected a cry of disbelief at the revelation, but there was none. He merely looked, without a word, and though Edmund couldn't see his face he felt the trembling of the arm wrapped around his waist. Even then, he thought as a burst of affection flickered through his senses, he felt safe.

"So you see, there is even less of a choice before me now. I can do it," Edmund said. "You must trust me when I say I can survive it, more or less unchanged."

Caspian shrugged. "I have no doubt that you could, which doesn't make the idea any less disturbing."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"I expect you to support me, when Peter inevitably starts raving."

"You intend to tell him what you plan?"

"Please, am I a fool? He would never allow it."

"In that case, I don't allow it."

Edmund laughed and disentangled himself from Caspian's arms. "Did you intend for that to sound discouraging? Because you failed."

"It thrills me how important my judgement is to you."

"It's the only way I know to save you," Edmund said quietly, then stilled and very deliberately looked straight at where he knew Caspian lay. "Tell me that I mustn't do it, then. I swear I won't, I swear on Peter's life, if you look me in the eye and forbid it."

There was nothing.

Edmund smiled. A moment's worth of groping around the ice-cold ground revealed that his backpack was lying not far from the bedding. Edmund delved into the side-pockets and came up with a torch. He flicked it on and shone the beam of light into Caspian's eyes. With its help he managed to locate their clothes, most of which thankfully never made it out of the sleeping bag and were therefore warm enough to put on.

There was enough ice in the room to allow for a very uncomfortable clean up, thoroughly hindered by Caspian roving hands. "We are going to have to rejoin the rest sometime," Edmund said eventually, when his shuddering became so bad Caspian drew a blanket around their - still naked - shoulders.

"I know. Is it so wrong to keep you to myself for a few minutes longer?"

Edmund closed his eyes, for whatever good that did him, and turned into the embrace. "If you'd had your way, we'd still have been locked up in the cabin of the Dawn Treader. It would have been splendid, I grant you. If there was a chance," he said slowly, feeling Caspian's heartbeat beneath his palm. He shook and it had nothing to do with the cold. "I would have gladly stayed here forever, with no one but you for company." Caspian's arms tightened around him and Edmund bit his lip to hold in the tears.

"Maybe we should go with my plan, for once, when we agree."

"If you can find a way to enforce it, absolutely."

Caspian couldn't think of a way, offhand. "How much time do I have to come up with something?"

"Until I have an opportunity," Edmund said. "Shall we get up now?"


	12. Darest Thou Now, O Soul

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER TWELVE - Darest Thou Now, O Soul]

They got dressed in relative silence. Caspian then led Edmund through the darkness back towards the main chamber of the How, or at least that was his intention. Susan met them at the entrance, torch in hand, with the air of one who had been waiting impatiently and just now had their vigil rewarded.

"Su," Edmund said.

"Ed, for heaven's sake! You're supposed to get eight hours of sleep, it's been barely six!"

"Which means you haven't slept well either."

"I am not injured. Did you eat?"

"No, didn't have time."

She gritted her teeth. "Then we will eat. Then I think we better talk, alone." The last word she added glaring at Caspian. As the only source of light was the diffused glow of the distant fire and the weak torch, the glare wasn't terribly potent, though Edmund felt his stomach clench all the same.

Despite the nervousness, he ate with considerable appetite. Though all they had was dried, cold and unappetising, Edmund found himself enjoying the food for the first time in months.

"Now," Susan said when they were done. "Do you want to explain why you thought it was a good idea to lie to me?"

"I didn't lie."

"You told me you and Caspian were friends."

"We are friends."

"Five minutes of honesty, Edmund, it's all I ask." Susan glared at him. "You used to be honest with me."

"I said nothing because if I were honest, you would have prevented me from going at all," Edmund said. Susan stared at him.

"That's it? That's your reason? You aren't even going to pretend you thought I might have feelings for him, that you would hurt, or that I would be outraged to find that you are…" She caught herself and the rest of the comment died in the awkward silence.

"You asked for five minutes of honesty. This is the truth. I know you, Su. I know you well enough, I hope, to be able to guess you wouldn't look down on me, or that your feelings would fade over time, when not fuelled." Edmund looked down at his hands. "I did, however, suspect that if I told you I wanted to return to Caspian, you wouldn't allow me to do so. You are right, in many ways. I was too invested in Narnia, in Caspian, to ever truly move on. Especially now."

Susan watched him carefully - it would seem that for all his claims of understanding of her way of thought she knew him just as well - and Edmund bore her scrutiny with an unflinching gaze.

"I still think you were wrong. Sooner or later you will have to return," she started saying, then fell silent. Edmund looked on impassively. "You plan on staying," she said. "You have no intention of ever going back."

"No."

"Edmund!"

"What do you wish me to say? I am invested in this world and if the recent events are any indication, this world is just as invested in me, regardless of my choices! I cannot abandon it again."

"It, or him?" Susan asked casually. A twitch of her brow revealed she wasn't quite as comfortable with the notion of Edmund and Caspian as she would pretend to be, but she was accepting it. The comfort would arrive in time. Edmund saw that and smiled. He rose to his knees and kissed Susan on the forehead.

"It has almost been five minutes now," he said. "I love him, perhaps more foolishly than I should."

"There is no perhaps about it."

Edmund laughed. "Now, are there any questions you would like me to answer dishonestly?"

"I assume you have some kind of a plan?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well?" Susan prompted after a minute of silence.

"I cannot tell you," Edmund said. "I'm sorry. I have confidence this will work out and you must trust me on this, but I cannot share the details."

"I can't trust you," Susan said. "You won't tell me and now I won't be able to sleep, for fear what you plan is awful. It is awful, isn't it?"

"Forgive me, Su."

It was odd that it was in this moment that Peter ran into the chamber, closely followed by the others. "We have trouble," he said, and as one everyone ran for their swords.

"What happened?"

"The dragons," Peter said. "They are coming from all around. We are going to have to fight, soon."

Edmund instinctively thrust out his hand to catch the sword thrown his way. Unfortunately, he reached out with his right arm, had the handle slip through his palm, catch on his fingers than the muscle gave out under the weight. "Right when I was thinking I didn't need the cast anymore," he said out loud.

"You are staying behind," Caspian said.

"How far behind, when there are eight of us?"

Susan, meanwhile, stood and demanded a weapon of her own, which proved to be a problem. "I have a hunting knife," Emeth said. "Unless you desire the sword, my lady?"

"I am an archer," Susan said, coming to take the knife all the same. "Though I suppose I have no choice. Thank you, Emeth."

"No, wait," Jill said. "Here, have my bow. I shall take the knife."

"I wouldn't want to leave you without protection."

"Lucy tells me you are a brilliant archer. I'm sure it is best for us all to allow the best archer the bow."

"Thank you," Susan said with feeling. There were still doubts plaguing her mind, with the praise or without it, but as soon as her fingers danced across the string she was confident again. It was as though all the magic of Narnia, where Susan was concerned, was found in the thrum of a string of the bow and the feather of an arrow.

"Let us see what the excitement is about," Edmund said, fastening the belt of his sword to his left hip. Drawing the sword with his left hand was a trouble - he had nowhere near enough practice - though with enough incentive he could fight left-handed competently.

"I don't think it's a good idea to let him out," Caspian said loud enough for Peter to hear.

"I agree, absolutely."

"Oh, come on! I am just dextrous enough to manage a distraction, at least."

"I believe that's the problem," Eustace said, earning himself a glare.

"I notice a dearth of rope, if you plan to hold me back."

"There is that. What have we got in term of bindings?" Peter asked seriously.

"Maybe we better stop them," Lucy whispered to Edmund some minutes later.

"I rather enjoy them discussing things without an argument," he said. "It's a novelty." It was also a novelty in term of the information exchanged. Caspian's prowess with a rope was easily explained by his seafaring habits, whereas Peter's was both a mystery and a point of future investigation.

"They talk sometimes."

"Usually when the pool of insults has been drained and they are both swaying on their feet," Edmund said, shaking his head. Lucy grinned at him.

"It is amusing, is it not?"

"Shouldn't we go out?" Eustace said. "I understand fighting here gives us something of an advantage, but I would at least like to see what we are up against."

The discussion on the finer points of bondage ended, with Edmund filing away some of the juicier comments to torment Peter with at a later time.

"Edmund, you are to keep behind us," Peter told him. "You are not well, you would get in the way. Jill, keep an eye on him."

"Yes, because that is exactly what we need to be doing in a battle against a multitude of dark creatures, looking to the cripple so that he doesn't hurt himself," Edmund said.

"Shut up," Susan said then, stomping her foot. "You will cease the gibbering. We worry! Of course we all worry about your well-being. Everyone will be making sure you are safe!"

"Wouldn't it be sensible, then, to put me in front?" Edmund asked, earning himself three consecutive smacks, from Peter, Lucy and Jill.

"We cannot avoid the fight," Peter said then. "We have nowhere near enough to conquer everybody. We can however hope that the stars will be distracted enough with the creatures for us to escape."

"Where should we go?" Emeth asked.

"Back to heaven. I know it is in no great shape either, but at the very least we have allies there. With an army we may stand a chance."

"But Peter," Susan said slowly, "neither Edmund nor I are dead. How can we enter heaven?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Eustace said confidently. "We have been to Aslan's country before, Jill and I, when we rescued Rilian."

"Which still begs the question of why shouldn't we send the two of you back to your world," Peter said. "When all else fails, you have the advantage of there being no magic there."

Susan shook her head at that. "I wish that matter would be dropped. I would rather stay, unless we have no other choice."

"I am not going anywhere the lot of you isn't going," Edmund said.

"We need to know what we are up against," Peter said. "The mouth of the cave will be easy to defend, and if the worst should happen we could try blocking the exit and escaping through the wood between, though I would rather avoid that."

"There's no telling what would happen to you in the wood," Edmund said, as the vision of the light underneath the bridges flashed before him. Suddenly he knew why was the wood so familiar. The very same light was its sun. "It is very queer. It makes you want to just stay there forever."

He had wanted to melt in the light, when he was dead, or close to it.

"It shall be our last route of escape," Peter said.

They exchanged no more words, but followed Peter through the dark corridors to the very entrance of the cave, Susan and Edmund with their hands gripping the shoulders of whoever walked in front of them, as it was too dark to see.

Outside it was bright as though the moon were full. Edmund longed to look out at the sky, for though his eyes told him there must have been a source of the light comparable to the moon, he knew there was none, for he had seen it consumed by the dying sun not that long ago. The stars must have congregated overhead, though how many to cause this brightness he dared not imagine.

Peter inched towards the mouth of the cave, keeping his back to the wall. From his position at the end Edmund could see little but the silhouettes as they cautiously stepped outside. He didn't need eyes, however, to know what was going on. There was screeching that rolled over the white plain, which wasn't so much echoed as repeated, over and over, until it quieted in the distance. Even from where he was standing Edmund saw the sleek shadows dance across the starry sky, occasionally erupting with an orange flame. There must have been thousands of the beasts, he thought and his heart sank a little.

There was no clear plan, save for that when it came to running Jill was to lead the way, and if it came to fighting, well, there the plan was much less concise. Edmund was glad of it. Sneaking away would be so much harder with well-defined battle arrangements.

They stepped out of the How, ready to face whatever end this would come down to. Edmund found Caspian looking at him and smiled. He watched Caspian's eyes narrow and flicker towards their family and friends before returning to him, and saw the choice made.

He ought to have doubts, he thought when Caspian turned away, tense and ready for a battle a hundred times worse than the others imagined. He probably ought to come clean. He probably ought to want to.

He probably shouldn't have gone and declared his undying love to a king who should have known better than to look for more than a quick tumble, he thought, glad of the humour. Now all that remained was seeing it through to the very end, and, if at all possible, containing the damage.

As soon as they were out of the cover, it became apparent that being unnoticed was the last thing they could hope for. Immediately the sky above them darkened and the creatures descended, roaring at nothing in particular. They fell onto the How and the surrounding area, covering it as the falling leaves cover the molehill, and they remained there, staring at the eight of them with bright, vicious eyes.

For a moment there was silence. Then with a shrill screech one of the beasts gave a signal and they leapt forward. The one to utter the command fell with Susan's arrow through its mouth before it could finish the note. The second was felled by Peter's sword. After that there was too much confusion, too much movement to keep track of whose sword killed what. The blades flashed, but soon they became dulled with the tar-like ichor of the creatures and there was no way to distinguish them from the scales in the silvery light.

Edmund made sure to remain close to Susan, though it soon became clear that he had miscalculated and that whatever had made the dragons avoid him before was much less potent now, and the defence was not easy.

Though there was barely time to breathe, Edmund saw that far in the distance the sea of blackness was being broken by the presence of shining people, armed with spears and knives. The stars were coming, but given the amount of creatures to be fought, they were still far enough for the concern to be secondary.

Edmund searched their ranks for Rilian, but all he could see was a hissing silvery brightness. He cursed when a swipe of the dragon's tail nearly knocked the sword out of his hand. It was too close. There were too many of them and to make matters worse, breathing was becoming a chore, for the air was so cold that a deeper inhalation felt as though tiny icicles were stabbing into his throat and lungs, freezing him from the inside.

"Head inside," Edmund yelled to Susan, who was experiencing a similar struggle.

He saw, then, that a creature had landed before him, spreading its wings. Its gaze was cruel and the mind behind it possessed just enough intelligence to be capable of malice. Edmund lowered his sword and held out his hand. It was awkward, for short of dropping his weapon he could only reach out with his right, and it had to remain encased, at least for the duration of the fight.

The creature's head dived for him and its jaws closed instead around Caspian's forearm. Edmund found himself on the icy ground, with the breath knocked out of him.

"Caspian!" Edmund screamed, but he had already dropped his sword and grasped the dragon's jaw with his other hand.

The world seemed to still, but when Edmund looked around he saw that the range was quite limited - it was only the dragons who were less than a hundred yards away that had stopped moving, and on the fringes of the herd there was fighting still. There were few that tried to leap over their brothers' heads, and those still had free reign, until they dared to venture too close to the swords between them and their prey.

Caspian stood quite still, staring into the green eyes of the dragon, with his fingers digging into the scales. There was no expression on his face. Slowly, he bent to the ground for the sword, pulling the creature's head with him.

"Caspian!" Peter yelled, "what on earth are you doing!"

Caspian wasn't listening anymore.

"It is easy," he said calmly, as though he was discussing the weather.

"Caspian, stop this!" Peter lunged over the empty space with his sword thrust forward, aiming for the creature's head, but Caspian blocked his strike almost absentmindedly.

"No." Caspian turned towards them. His face was terrifyingly blank, pale and wonderful. Edmund's heat fluttered madly and fire burned in his soul.

"Caspian, this is madness," he said, stepping forth. He couldn't catch his breath, speaking was verging on painful, but still continued. "You cannot do this. You don't realise the consequence."

"I realise," Caspian said, and even in the strange, shifting starlight Edmund saw his eyes darken. "You were right," he whispered. "This will solve so much."

"Stop this," Peter screamed, so close that Edmund winced at the sheer volume. "You cannot!"

"You won't tell me what I can and cannot do, Peter."

"Edmund, make him stop!" Lucy beseeched. "This is wrong, this cannot be good, please!"

"How?" Edmund asked. His eyes were locked with Caspian's.

"Tell him you won't speak to him ever again, anything! Tell him you won't forgive him, lion's mane!" Peter made a move to step towards Caspian, but a growl from a hundred dragons kept him in place. "Edmund!"

"I am not that good a liar, Pete," Edmund said, and his voice felt as though it was coming from far away.

Caspian grinned. He let go of the dragon, which remained quite docile, even as his hand left its jaw, and stepped to Edmund. His skin was heated, Edmund thought, and it was the only thought he was capable of presently. Caspian's grip on his back was nigh on painful, the press of his lips bruising in its intensity, but it was perfection, ice and fire, damnation and heaven all into one. His heart sang.

Edmund gasped for air when they separated. There was a sinister promise in Caspian's dark eyes: there would be nothing and no one to stand in their way. They would conquer worlds together; they would burn them, freeze them; they would sail to the very ends of the universe and there wouldn't be a land which wouldn't bow before them. It was thrilling.

Caspian let him go and then he was mounting the dragon and taking it into the sky. One by one the surrounding creatures took flight as well, at the very least those which stood closest to Caspian.

There were so many, and even though Edmund saw them pause, one by one, look up and take off, for every one that did there were two that leapt over their heads to attack. There was no pause, no respite for the fighters, not until Caspian managed to wrestle the whole population under control.

There was so little time.

Edmund dived under the wing of a creature which was ready to take Susan's head off and thrust his sword into its side. It writhed on the ground for a few moments and stilled, but he was already running, throwing himself into the thick of the herd, so that, with any luck, he would not be seen.

The ability not to think too hard would have been a blessing at this point, Edmund thought, as he whirled and rammed the blade into another dragon. He was badly winded; using his left hand meant his more fanciful fighting skills would have to give way to crude stabs and hacks, which of course made him lose precious time on balancing his steps. Having to put his weight on the hilt of the sword to break the thick hide was a terrible impairment. Had he been healthy, or dead, he thought with amusement, the same result he could achieve with a graceful pirouette and a slash across the throat.

He had the advantage, though, one that his siblings unfortunately did not possess, and that was the dragon's reluctance to approach. Even though he was wrapped in mortal flesh, they must have still sensed that he was broken and it scared them off.

More and more creatures around him ceased moving. The ice field was becoming deserted, but the journey still had plenty of obstacles. It was enough. It was too much. He needed to hurry.

Edmund stopped. Less than fifty yards away there was a star, struggling with a great creature, whose eyes were less listless than those of the others.

"Rilian!" Edmund yelled, mindless of the cold stinging his face and hands. He'd foregone gloves, as the control of the sword seemed more important. He was regretting it now. "Rilian!"

The star turned to him with a look of surprise and the dragon took that opportunity to bite into its shoulder. It screeched, which was a sound no human throat would be capable of.

It was different from Lilliandil and Coriakin, who both looked human, although in Lilliandil's case the looks were overshadowed by the glow, constantly suffusing her surroundings. She was a lovely woman, ageless in one way, but very much showing the signs of human maturity. Coriakin was an elderly man. This… Edmund wasn't even sure if it even had a gender, and its age could be anything at all.

Well, this would later be used to tease Caspian.

The star speared the dragon's head and let the carcass fall to the ground. "You," it hissed, though the word sizzled in its mouth like its silvery blood sizzled around the dragon saliva on its shoulder. "You come to us."

"I will speak with Rilian alone," Edmund said straightening. He looked at the creature, through half-lidded eyes, the eyes of an aloof king who deigned to speak to an insignificant worm. "You will either get him, or take me to him."

It was getting brighter, and the shadows all around started flickering. Edmund found his chest was bothering him again - though the wound Rilian had given him had not so much as twinged since he woke on the station, now he found it aching.

He counted, drawing out each syllable in his mind. First ten in English, then Latin, then Greek, then reverse, until his mind was utterly calm and devoid of panic. There were still dragons to be fought around him. There was still time, so he stood and waited, as the stars, gathering in multitudes, surrounded him. Some of them snarled, though their faces were so bright he found looking at them was hard.

It was strange that there was no warmth in their light. Edmund wasn't gifted in the field of physics, he knew just enough to get by, but he was aware that at the very least a source of light should emit heat. Evidently, it was not so with Narnian stars.

There was movement in the ranks, at last, and the stars parted to allow Rilian through. "Edmund," he said with some surprise. "You have returned." He looked better than he had when they last spoke, or perhaps it was merely that Edmund's mortal eyes couldn't focus properly on the immortal body, especially when it was wrapped in the heavenly light. He was clad in black, and carried no weapon but the stone knife, tucked into his belt.

"You promised me a duel," Edmund said. "You should at the very least acknowledge and honour that."

"You come here, virtually unarmed, and demand that I duel you?"

"I do."

"Why would I?"

"Because you all but promised that you would fight me honourably. Am I to understand you would go back on a given word?"

"No more than you would."

There was a murmur among the stars, then. They disagreed. They wished for little else than to be given the word they were free to tear Edmund apart, limb from limb, until they could take his heart from the bleeding husk and present it at Rilian's feet.

Then again, Edmund thought, given what the actual intention seemed to be, a silver platter was more likely. Maybe with a fork and a knife on the side.

"Tell me," he asked, "Is it necessary for you to consume my heart? I couldn't stop wondering about that."

Rilian gave him a look of surprise and then an awkward laugh. "I am… Yes. Unfortunately, yes. I myself am not entirely sure why this must be so, but I am told that there is one way only to destroy a soul, and that is to consume it."

"It can be done with no harm to you?"

"Yes." Rilian wasn't absolutely certain, however. Deep inside, and this was betrayed by only the tiniest flicker in his eyes, he feared - he hoped! - that he was not exempt from the rule and that he would be spared the aftermath.

"It is fascinating."

"Edmund… Must we fight?"

"As opposed to me laying down my life and betraying the promise I made to your father?" Edmund raised his sword and bowed. "We must all live up to our word. Do me the honour, then, and defeat me in an honourable battle. Allow me to die as a king should."

"You shouldn't have to die," Rilian said, but he turned to say a word to one of the stars, and soon he was handed a sword. "I shall never stop mourning your demise."

"Thank you."

Though his hands would barely move, and his feet were starting to rebel at the proximity of ice, Edmund found that his body sang at the prospect of the duel. He was in Narnia, the world which had made him a king; it remembered his kingship and the knowledge was alive well after his death. It remained long enough to carry on the echoes well into her death, so that he could feel them now, all the memories of the duels fought and won, of the precious lessons in duels lost.

Granted, he was never considered a true master of the sword - Peter was undoubtedly his better - but there were few to match him, when the occasion called for it. Fighting Rilian, who was crippled by guilt of deeds not yet committed and his own misgivings shouldn't be too hard.

Their swords crossed and though Rilian frowned at the fact that Edmund chose to fight left-handed, he made no comment.

Were there sympathetic onlookers, Edmund thought when the first surge had them clash and then jump back, they would be hissing at him to submit, in the hopes that the victor would be magnanimous. There was little hope for Edmund to win, little hope he would even look like he might win. Rilian had experience over him, for Edmund might have learned to fight for his life early, but Rilian had at the very least twice Edmund's swordsmanship experience, in combat and in tournaments. He was also healthy, unhindered by recently broken bones and unaffected by the cold.

Then again, Edmund wasn't exactly playing to win.

Another clash brought them into proximity, so that were it not for the crossed blades Edmund would have felt Rilian's breath ghost across his face. Instead, he was just as likely to be burned by the icy-cold metal. Even this would be easier, had it not been for the fact that his left hand was nowhere near strong enough to allow for such test of strength. Edmund was convinced even his right would fail.

A hurling screech came from directly above and Edmund found himself gripping the handle of the stone knife. His jacket, hindering though it was in a fight, allowed for some concealment and so he was able to hide the weapon away, hopefully before the stars took their eyes off the sky.

He pushed at Rilian's waist, and jumped back, not bothering to hide his exhaustion.

"You are not well," Rilian observed.

"I am well enough," Edmund wheezed.

"I cannot fight you in good conscience when you are not well enough to reciprocate."

"Your subjects are of different mind."

"They have been waiting for far longer than I."

"You have been waiting for hundreds of years."

"I have been granted the opportunity to meet all those I treasured in heaven. I can hardly say I suffered for it." Rilian smiled thinly and his voice trailed to a whisper so low, Edmund would have missed it, had he not been supported by the man. "I know my father wishes to kill me, for what I've done to you, for what I plan to do."

"Caspian is being an idiot about it. You mustn't let him."

"How can I just ignore such intense hatred, when he is my father?" Rilian asked.

Edmund smirked. "You can remember your father is ruled by his passions, as often as not. Had he not travelled to the rim of the world, when a sufficient excuse presented itself? Had he not made rash promises in the heat of the moment, without so much as a thought to the consequences? I'm sure you will find he regrets plenty of what he did and promised, before he thought about it."

"To be fair to his choices, the consequences were such that no man could in his conceit hope to foresee."

Edmund mused, how strange it was that he could converse with this man, who had been sworn to end his existence, in such a playful manner, with hundred's of spears pointing in his direction. The beauty of diplomacy, he mused, was flirting with one's enemies and duelling one's friends, all for the greater good. What poetry it was!

He was not the only one to entertain such thoughts. "Sire," one of the stars said. "'Tis foolishness. Let us be done with this king, when there is no way but forth."

"I sha'n't kill a man who's unable to defend himself," Rilian said decisively. "I was wrong to ever attempt it. I will not let such a deed burden my conscience ever again."

"Aye, my lord, you heart does you a great honour, but it is not time for it. So much more is at stake."

Edmund found that the circle of spears tightened around him and that there was a hand - burning, cold, luminescent hand - on his throat, tilting back his head.

Rilian's brow furrowed. "Release him," he said forcefully.

"No," said another voice, hidden by the stars. Once more the shining folk had parted, letting through one who should be as them, but her visage was more like that of a human, her light diminished. "No, Rilian, he is right. There is no time to lose. We must act and we must act swiftly."

"Mother, no. It is dishonourable."

"That is not a concern of mine," Lilliandil said, striding to Edmund. The star holding him by the shoulders trembled, and Edmund heard a gasp of reverence, but pulled his head back further, exposing his throat.

"I sha'n't beg your forgiveness," Lilliandil whispered. "I hope that you will some comfort in that I shall share your fate."

"What a short-lived comfort it will be, my lady," Edmund said as she laid her hands upon his chest. "When your son will be screaming in anguish."

Her hands shook. "You sha'n't hear it."

"Neither shall you."

"I will not let you change my mind, Edmund."

"No, it is a sound choice. A fair one. I cannot help but approve."

Though he willed it not to, his heart hammered in his chest, louder and louder, as he saw her hesitate. Then, when Lilliandil brightened with resolve, there came the screams and the flapping of great, leathery wings.

The first creature descended upon Rilian, though its effort was half-hearted, at best. A swipe of the sword took its head off its neck. It had done the job, however. Edmund was free, as Lilliandil and all the stars had rushed to aid her son.

She realised her mistake within moments and when she turned to face him her face was terrible. Edmund couldn't help but recall the face of the White Witch in her anger, and though they were as different as night and day, there was something of her in the ice-cold fury in Liliandil's eyes. "You dare to play tricks on us?" she hissed, and for once her speech was as sizzling as that of the other stars. "You dare to ruin our triumph?"

"It is not a triumph, my lady, until you have won," Edmund said lightly. There was a battle behind him and there was a battle in front. Only he and Lilliandil stood unmoved in the face of the wave of the dark creatures, and they all stepped around, like water parts for a stone in the stream. "I have told you, I shan't go quietly."

"You will always be a traitor," she said. "Your name will only be recalled for its treachery!"

"Fine words, madam, but as you have come to this earth to steal a man's soul, I am not moved by your accusations."

She would have lunged at him then and he would have fallen, to the despair of many, and the joy of countless. However, as it happened Lilliandil made no step forward, for a blade, blackened with corruption and ichor, had pierced her through the heart. She looked up to find Caspian, whose arms were cushioning her fall, even as he pulled his sword out of her body.

He said nothing as he lowered her to the ice. His face was devoid of all emotion, even as he leaned forward to plant a kiss upon her parted lips. "Farewell, my queen," Caspian said as her eyes grew vacant and empty.


	13. After the SeaShip

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER THIRTEEN - After the Sea-Ship]

Caspian stood and his eyes grew hard. He didn't spare Edmund a glance, but one of the creatures stood apart from the fighting to circle him. He watched it fight against coming too close, but Caspian's will was stronger than its misgivings and it would have destroyed itself at his command.

Edmund grinned into the frozen collar of his jacket.

"Mother!" Rilian screamed behind them, rushing forth without a care, even if he must have already known that it was true. "You've killed her!"

"She would have died anyway," Caspian said. "If you were fooling yourself up until now, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"You murdered her!" Rilian screamed. To attack now, when his head was filled with naught but anger and despair and his mother's face, when his opponent was unmoved and ready for battle, was foolish, and he must have known it. He lunged nonetheless, to strike at his father in retaliation.

"Don't you dare hurt him!" Edmund yelled, when Caspian easily avoided the first blow and moved to counter. "Caspian!"

It was well that Rilian was so distraught by emotion - coupled with doubts and fears this made him an easy target for Caspian to disarm. "I wished her no ill," he said, standing over Rilian. "I wish you no ill, either. I will spare you, as long as it is within my power. However, be warned. Come after Edmund, and your life is forfeit."

"I am your son!"

Caspian's lip twitched. "I don't care."

He turned then and strode to Edmund. As he walked a dragon descended to his side, matching its steps to Caspian's. Edmund found himself gripped harshly by the arm and pulled onto the dragon's back, which wasted not one moment before taking to the sky, leaving behind the dreadful melee of shine and darkness, of dragons tearing into stars and being torn apart by spears and knives themselves.

For a long moment, if he twisted his head as far as he could, he could see Rilian, a lone speck of genuine colour, cradling the dissolving body of his mother. He felt a pang of sorrow at that. "You shouldn't have killed her," he told Caspian.

"Don't say a word," he heard in reply. As calm as Caspian had been moments before, he was furious now. He said nothing more, but the creatures circling them roared and beat their wings, as though the very air offended.

Despite the silent anger, the cold and exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, Edmund found himself relaxing in Caspian's hold. The stars whirled high in the sky, though that might have been the result of his body giving out under the strain he'd subjected it to.

They hadn't travelled far, and if he were less tired Edmund would have screamed when the dragon pitched down suddenly, moving towards the ground at great speed. He was queasy when he half-fell, half-jumped off the dragon's back, supported in no small part by Caspian's iron grip on his upper arm.

"Edmund!" Peter called from a great distance, but when Edmund raised his head he saw his brother only a few yards away, held in place by a dark creature, whose head was turned to Caspian. "Edmund are you well?"

"Can't complain," he started saying, but Caspian wouldn't deign to look back. Edmund didn't resist when he was led to the entrance of the How and pulled into the darkness within.

"What were you thinking?" Caspian asked then, in a low, unsettling hiss, when the scant starlight disappeared in the distance. "Do you wish to die so badly?"

"Of course not," Edmund wanted to say, but his throat was refusing to submit to his will. He was too cold.

"Because if that's what you desire, I can give it to you," Caspian said. There was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn and Edmund felt its tip against his neck.

"You would kill me?" Edmund asked, soundlessly.

"You are mine!" Caspian said in that disturbing hiss. "I shall not suffer anyone to touch you, do you understand?"

"Is that so." Edmund straightened, mindless of the cold and the blade at his neck. "Is that what you think of me? Do you fancy me a toy to be possessed?"

The sword was gone, but Caspian stepped into its place, trapping Edmund thoroughly between himself and the wall. "You belong to me," he said, and Edmund thought wryly that had there been any more heat in his voice, he would have been spitting fire like some of the dark creatures. "You belong to me whole, and I will suffer no harm to come to you, even if I must kill everything in my path to ensure it."

"I will not be treated like a lapdog," Edmund said. "I am not yours to possess. I'm no object. You will come to your senses, or I swear I will march right out of here and let them have their way!"

He felt Caspian's lips curl into a grim smile against his mouth. "They have crossed a line," he said. "They must suffer for it, all of them. And you, you will stay here and you will wait until I'm done."

"I will not be ordered!" Edmund growled, but Caspian merely laughed, caught his wrists and held them high.

"But you will. You will stay here, because I say it will be so, and you will wait for my return."

"I'm warning you," Edmund started, but the rest of the words died in the heat of Caspian's mouth.

When they broke apart Edmund found himself sliding to the floor.

"I will let nothing get in my way," Caspian said. "Not even you."

He strode out of the How. Edmund followed, when he was able to move, but no sooner had he seen a glimpse of the outside in the distance, than there was a roar and a thunder, and earth cascaded onto the exit, burying him in darkness.

Were he not so exhausted, he would be scared. He wasn't claustrophobic - he could crawl through the narrow caves beneath Cair Paravel without worry - and the How had within it space enough to host an army. There was, however, a deep underground feel to it, and he was alone in complete blackness, surrounded by nothing but rock and earth in all directions, with no light and no compass to guide his way.

Given what he remembered from his previous stay, he would die of hunger before he reached the inner sanctum, around which the How was constructed.

Outside, he imagined, Caspian was terrorising the army of stars. He hadn't been kidding, about this Edmund had no illusion. Caspian was perfectly capable of doing what he said what he would do, especially with the black poison of the creatures egging him on. He would fight until he either fell (unlikely, when the creatures were made of stuff that used itself for sustenance), or he killed everything in his path. Edmund had no idea why this thought seemed like such a joke all of sudden, but he couldn't hold in a peal of laughter.

He didn't know how long he stood there, laughing, but when he finally realised he might be done, his sides ached. Hilarious as Caspian's idea of retribution was, it had to be stopped, and there was but one way to do it.

Edmund turned and, with his arms extended to spare himself the trouble of walking into a wall, he started towards the chamber of the Stone Table. He needed to hurry - the stars were many and they were determined; there was a chance one of them would hurt Caspian, or that he would finish them. The latter would not be the ideal outcome, but the first Edmund couldn't bear to even consider. He had enough faith in Caspian to know he would stand it, but it was not his nature to let things run their course.

He wasn't sure how long he wandered in the darkness, but he thought the way was straightforward enough. When he first saw the pale glow, reflected on the walls, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but no - he had reached the centre of the maze.

The magical vial that Coriakin had given them shone every bit as bright as the moment it was first ignited. Its light was blue, casting an unearthly, to his mortal eyes, radiance onto the Stone Table. Strange, but he couldn't see the lettering upon it now. The surface of the table of was smooth and cold, lit only from without. Perhaps he needed to be dead to see it, he thought, trailing his fingers, numb with cold, over the stone.

He stood on the ledge between the broken slabs of stone, and shed his jacket along with the cast on his arm. The biting cold numbed him within moments, but that was to be expected. Edmund took up the knife he had stolen from Rilian and looked at its edge. He had to smile. In its smooth blade he saw - or he though he saw - the reflection of the Witch's eyes, staring through him in contempt and righteous hunger.

Perhaps he ought to say something; certainly a story would require it. He refrained. The exact nature and limits of his bond with Caspian were uncertain - though here, again, he may have been fooling himself. He knew what the bond was. As such, he uttered not a word, for so far in heaven the words either of them spoke were no secret to the other, regardless of the distance. If the same was true when Edmund was not yet dead, he was uncertain, but he didn't dare to test the theory.

He sought out the arteries in his neck. There was a pang of guilt that coursed through him then, as the skin remembered the very same touch of Caspian's hands and lips, and ached for it. Edmund shivered, but there was no abandoning his resolve. He would die and the promise would be kept. The traitor would be killed by the witch's blade and Narnia would be saved.

The knife was wickedly sharp; he needed only to apply a fraction of the pressure a sword would require. Before his body could understand what was happening, he'd slashed the knife across his own throat, sending a spray of bright, red blood spattering onto the cold stone.

He'd managed to keep standing for a few seconds more, but soon his head started spinning and he half-fell half-lay on the table detailing Narnia's history. Before his eyes the letters reappeared and filled with blood, which may have been his own imagining, as he sat before them, reading the new script as it was being appended.

"At long last," the words proclaimed, "the Ancient Magic has been appeased, as the traitor's blood spilled across the Stone Table by the hand of the evil, which a son of Adam brought into the world."

The light started to dim. Edmund had enough understanding of biology, mostly gleaned from men dying on the battlefield, to know that his time trickled down to the last slowing beats of his heart. Already he found himself waiting for the next, which would force another wave of blood out of his throat, and found it late. Belatedly he wondered if perhaps he ought to have kept the jacket, as the cold was likely to slow down the process, but it was too late. His limbs would no longer move.

It could have been minutes; he did not count the beats of his heart explicitly, but the estimate ranged in hundreds, so it had to be minutes. The cold and the wait for each beat drew out the wait to hours, but even those had to end, and Edmund found himself slipping into the darkness.

The last thing he saw was the solemn face of a lion, watching him dispassionately and into its face Edmund grinned.

It should have been strange, watching himself die. It should have, but it wasn't. Edmund leaned against the Stone Table, watching as the last gush of blood bubbled up on the cut of his neck.

"Edmund," Aslan said and there was a terrible sadness, as well as anger, in his voice. "What have you done?"

"Is this a game we are going to play now?" Edmund answered. "I thought it would please you."

"Your death would never please me. Certainly not when it came at your own hand."

"Would you rather it had come at yours?"

Aslan withstood his gaze. "Your death was necessary, through your own choice," he said at last, and Edmund smiled. At the very least he was not treated to denial, which would have made things so much harder.

"I was right, then. You planned it, from the start you've been planning this."

"Nevertheless, you have done yourself a great wrong."

"Perhaps." Edmund looked at the body, then touched his own neck. There was a line across his throat and the mark the knife had left on his chest was there as well. "Is Caspian safe?"

For a moment he feared that Aslan would not answer, citing his unwillingness to share another's story, but no. "He is far from safe. His deeds will haunt him for as long as he lives."

"But his soul is safe," Edmund said. "It shall remain with him." He had been certain - he rarely found it within him to gamble. The stakes here were so frighteningly high, however, so precariously balanced, that even certainty carried with it the implicit threat of failure so all-encompassing that Edmund knew he would never recover from it, that he wouldn't want to recover.

"His soul is of no use, now." Aslan sounded angry, but these were the sweetest words Edmund could have imagined. "You are far less contrite than a man in your position should be."

"You want me to be sorry? For what? For not playing along, or for not realising the rules of the game?"

"You knew the rules and you have broken every last one."

"Tell me something, if you will, because I find myself confused. What was my part in this? Why was I summoned at all, when he would have found the star all on his own? Or did you plan to show us what could be and then take it away?"

Aslan said nothing, but Edmund continued to speak, knowing that his voice carried in that soundless way to Caspian. "I was to convince him of his duty, wasn't I. You put me on that ship knowing what we could be together, because you knew he would listen when I told him to remain and do what was expected of him. You put me there to betray him." His voice shook at the word, because to betray Narnia when he was an ignorant child was one thing, but to deliberately set Caspian on the path that would end in his destruction would have overshadowed all wrong done to the universe since its conception, and there would have been no hell deep enough for him.

"Betray?" Aslan said, and there was a roar in his voice. "His sacrifice would have been great, but there were many who would have won their eternal reward through it; such numbers, such vastness, you have no hope of comprehending."

"Let them have it! I wish to know the fate you had planned for me!"

"It would be no worse than that awarded to your brother."

"No worse?" How foolish he must have looked, drawn to his full, unassuming height, in the face of a lion who'd dwarf mountains, should he care to. "My brother earned his place in your heaven! He is just and kind and loyal. He had done his duty to you and to Narnia!

"You would have had me betray Caspian and then doom me to an eternal land where there was nothing to fill the hollow in my heart! You may well have had me murder Caspian with my own hands! Or not murdered - murder I could understand, I could commit it to spare him, but I don't think there's a word foul enough for what you had in store for him."

"That is his own tale, Edmund. Yours would have had a happy ending. It still could have a happy ending, but for the foolhardy ways you choose."

"Call it foolishness, if you will, but never again dare to call it happy. I am telling you: I will refuse any fate that doesn't have Caspian in it."

Aslan growled. Edmund was not as adept as Lucy at reading his face, but he thought it was sad more than it was angry. "Mind your place, son of Adam. You have no understanding of just how little you are."

"I'm starting to have an idea, and I don't care for it. I won't let you even try to separate us again."

"Do you have so little faith?" Aslan said then, quietly. "Do you think I would intend to cause you so much pain, that I would let you both be destroyed?"

"I don't know what you intended," Edmund said. He had thought about it. He'd considered all the stories he heard, he'd considered the plans, considered each word spoken on the subject that he knew of, and the chance that Lilliandil might have succeeded on her first try still seemed too great. That Caspian was saved by words dictated by passion and hurt, it was so unlikely it was a miracle, and Edmund didn't trust miracles. "I see what you planned and don't think I don't admire you for it. Either way, the stars get what they want, and if it comes at the price of one man or one world, what is it to you?"

Aslan said nothing.

"You don't have anything to say?"

"You speak enough for us both."

"Why me?" Edmund asked, after a moment of silence. "Why did it have to be me? Lucy would have been a sounder choice; she would have told Caspian to have faith in you and she would have believed it. I could have never again returned to Narnia and I would have been content, too."

Aslan looked into him then, waited until the angry buzz in Edmund's head quieted and then, softly, he whispered, "Because you asked."

Edmund froze. "What?"

"It was because you asked, over and over, to be given another chance. That you would do it right this time." Aslan looked and Edmund heard the prayers he uttered throughout his life, throughout his lives, both in Narnia and in England. After the Dawn Treader he only prayed to see Caspian again. Before he'd always prayed for forgiveness.

Edmund swayed where he stood and gripped the edge of the Stone Table to right himself. "That was my second chance?" he said, not caring if his voice was high-pitched and breaking. "Giving Caspian away?"

Whatever he had imagined Aslan would say, this was worse. He stared at the blood on the stone, at the knife, still in his body's grip, and wondered at the utmost cruelty of his hopes. "I had prayed all my life for the chance to betray Caspian," he said softly. "And you still put me there, knowing what he was to me, knowing what we could be!

"And if I didn't fail," Edmund said, quietly. "If I had doomed him. What then?"

"Then he would have died to give his son the soul he required."

Edmund closed his eyes and let the knowledge soothe the howl in his heart. "Then I was right," he said. "Then I have no reason to regret anything I've done."

Aslan growled at him. "You have every reason to regret it. What you did, what was done because of you - that cannot be undone. Caspian had chosen the corruption for your sake, he committed murder for your sake. You have committed a great sin, and for what, child of Adam? What did you hope to accomplish?"

"I want to leave, me and Caspian," Edmund said. "I want for us to leave your land and never return, and I want to never be bothered by you again."

"Are you threatening me?" Aslan gave Edmund a look that bordered on incredulous, an expression most ridiculous on a lion. "Do you really think I can be bartered with?"

"It is not a barter. It is the knowledge that Lucy's heart will surely break when she is told of the plan you had for Caspian and me. I don't think you would want that."

"Do you presume to understand what it is you dared to meddle in? Do you presume to understand the threats you make?"

Edmund clenched his fists. "Oh, I understand all too well. It was a game - it's all a game. The stakes were great and the risks even more so and you knew how it would end, and you must have at least suspected I would understand. You taught me how to play yourself, did you not?" Edmund forced himself to smile. "We must all play by the rules, but there are some that are written on the surface, and some that are written underneath and some that aren't written at all. Is it not true?"

The great lion growled, though Edmund took it for a derisive laugh. Oh, how he hoped Lucy had never seen that face. "You dare to accuse me?"

"Then deny it. Tell me I am wrong and this plot was of Lilliandil's making, or even that it was concocted by the stars! I will believe it, perhaps not without difficulty, for the scope seems to me so grand I can't imagine even the stars could manage on their own."

Aslan did not look away. He didn't flinch, nor did his gaze flicker. "You are not wrong," he said at last. "They have come begging for the chance to share in the grace given to your kind, and I let them have the chance."

"Why in this manner? Why not simply grant their wish?"

"Have you not read enough? A soul is such a precious thing, a whole world had to be forfeit for just one, and the stars are so many. Now Narnia and the world will be reborn, to serve her original purpose, but it will take aeons before she is ready to bear fruit, as she had withered before her time, and it will be a harrowing journey for them all."

"I'm glad, then, that they shall be able to have their chance," Edmund said, surprising even himself with his honesty.

"Come," Aslan said after a moment. "It is your triumph and you will see it to the end."

Edmund cast one last look at his own remains. "Will you make sure Susan comes to no harm because of this?"

"You brought her to a world ripe with corruption, which would leap at the chance to feast on living flesh, and it is only now you are concerned with her well-being?"

"Now is as good a time as any," Edmund said and the How dissolved around them. They were outside, under the starry skies, on the ice. A great battle was taking place before them, between the creatures of darkness and the stars, and in the centre there were Caspian and Rilian, locked in a duel that, judging by its ferocity, would end no other way but with a dead body on the ground.

"Will you do nothing?" Edmund asked after a moment.

"Do you think it is in my power, to stop them now? They both desire nothing more than to see the other dead, both with good reason. Not even I can change that."

Yet, Edmund could see, something was changing. It was warmer, for one; it could have been that it seemed warmer to him, when he no longer had a body to worry about, but no, he was certain that there was more to it. Ever so slightly the texture of the snow was changing and there was light gathering all around; the darkness of the sky was changing, and though it was still too dark to see the colour, there was depth to it now, and for the first time since he came to the dead world Edmund felt the wind on his face.

"Caspian," Edmund said before he could think about it. "Stop and look." He spoke softly, without the slightest inflection, but even at a distance he could see Caspian hesitate and take a step back.

Something was happening to Rilian. Edmund smiled in barely concealed triumph. He had doubts, it was only natural, even though he had chosen to wager everything on the belief that he was right, but here was everything drawing to a conclusion, just as he thought it would. He scarcely even heard the joyous exclamation of Lucy and Jill, as the rest of them rushed to meet him and Aslan.

"Look," he said instead, holding out his hand.

The battle ceased. All eyes turned to Rilian, who stood there with quite the silly expression on his face and his hand clasped to his chest. There was a light about him, growing stronger with each passing second.

They watched in reverent silence as the snow underneath their feet melted. No one worried about the measuring of time, and it could have been hours or it could have been seconds before the ice started breaking and, one by one, they fell into the endless, dark ocean, lit by the stars, but even then there was no cause for worry. The water, though cold at first touch, soon warmed and it ebbed away within minutes. Not long after he fell into it, Edmund found his feet touching the ground once more and the water disappeared, never to return.

Only Susan still shivered, but that was understandable, as she was wearing the most and was therefore the last to dry.

"Ed," Peter started saying, just as Lucy ran forth to wrap her arms around Aslan in delight.

"I knew you'd come!" she cried joyously.

"Dearest," the lion said, "You shall not be so glad to see me when you hear what I have come to say."

"I don't understand," she started saying, but Edmund was already rushing forward, to intercept Caspian, who'd abandoned his quest to murder the rest of his family and was coming towards them in a cloud of dark creatures. A terrible strain was in them, as the closer they got to Aslan the more reluctant they were, but Caspian dragged them forward regardless. He could burn the world, Edmund thought in wonder. For him, Caspian could do anything.

They met on the blank turf, both determined not to let the other move one step forth. "Say not a word," Edmund told Caspian, grasping his shoulders. "Swear to me, not a word of what you know, or heard."

"You wish to let him get away with everything?" Caspian hissed and the creatures behind him started beating their wings furiously. Then, as though the tiniest spark of sanity returned to his darkened eyes, he said, "You are…" Lightly, as though he'd realised something, he brushed his fingertips against the fresh mark on Edmund's throat. "Ed…" His eyes were brighter now; behind them both, the movements of the creatures was becoming more haphazard.

"It is done. It is over. We're safe. Well, mostly." Edmund allowed himself a small smile, when he saw that Caspian relaxed, even if it was only just a fraction. "I shall explain everything you desire me to say, I swear, but you must say nothing."

"No!"

"Caspian," there sounded a voice behind them and Edmund turned, to find Aslan approaching. "You have done a great wrong tonight."

Caspian's eyes narrowed. He cast a look at Edmund, full of mindless fury, but somewhere in his eyes there was control. "You ask me to repent? I shan't. I did what I needed to do."

"You let corruption and evil poison you. You let it flourish. You have ended the existence of countless of beings, who had come here seeking redemption."

"Then by all means, strike me down." Caspian flung his sword to the ground, undid the breastplate faster than its construction should have allowed, cast it aside along with the sword. "I am defenceless. I shall not fight. I might even turn my back and pretend not to see it coming."

"No," Aslan said slowly. Then, stronger, on the verge of a roar. "You have dared to allow corruption to rule you. I will not allow it to sully my country, or this new land. You are therefore banished."

For a moment there was silence. Caspian seemed unmoved, but the rest, Lucy in particular, cried out. There was outrage and pain and even pleading, but Edmund only managed a thin smile.

"Aslan, please!" Lucy was saying, "Can't something be done? Surely you don't mean to cast Caspian out!"

"Don't, Lucy," Caspian said, staring the lion down. "I was aware this might be the cost." As he spoke a strange expression came over his face. "You planned all this," he murmured in a voice that would be overlooked by anyone but Edmund, even if the rest weren't busy begging Aslan to reconsider. "You knew this would be the result." Though his voice was still controlled, there were cracks in it, as though it was only the last of his strength holding him together.

"You are being absurd. To plan such a matter would require knowledge vastly broader than a mortal's understanding."

"Am I? It seems to me that ever since you returned from your world you knew more than you were saying. Do you mean to say that all that you did, all that you said, that was the full and honest truth?"

It was not beyond Edmund's understanding that Caspian would be upset by matters presented in this way and the presence of a hand, tightly clasped around his arm, was no surprise.

"Edmund," Caspian growled.

"No," Edmund said simply, but so low that he knew only Caspian could hear him. "Insofar as the final events could be planned, I had a hand in how they played, starting from the moment of my return."

"Why, then?" Caspian asked, and this time his voice broke, though what lay beneath was less hurt than it was fury. His grip on Edmund's arm was tight enough to cause pain. The haze of battle and the corruption had not yet left him, and the pain was quickly set aflame.

Edmund raised his head and looked Caspian in the eye. "Because I cannot return to Aslan's country and I didn't want to leave here alone."

Caspian gaped at him with the most foolish expression on his face, which would have been humorous, at any other time. "You-" he started, and then followed by an expletive usually reserved for Peter. "You needed only to ask!"

"To what end? To risk having you consent?"

There was a multitude of emotion on Caspian's face as Edmund saw understanding dawn. There was anger, amusement, alarm and, buried underneath them all, a love so fierce it could scorch like an open flame. Edmund clung to the latter, for he was aware that the anger coursing through Caspian was justified and that he would no doubt be slow to forgive the subterfuge, but the love had not changed, and therein was his greatest hope.

High in the sky the stars were celebrating. There was such movement there, that Edmund thought there must have been fireworks. It was only when he looked longer that he realised it was just the stars, dancing upon the firmament. Some of them were falling to earth, presumably to join in the celebrations, and all of them danced.

The erstwhile army, now an ecstatic crowd, gathered around Rilian and it was to Rilian that Aslan was walking now. The stars parted before him in reverence, bowing to the ground when he passed and through their midst Edmund saw the man, a sole dark spot among the shining folk.

Caspian's hold on his arm loosened, but didn't fully go.

"What do you think Rilian will do now?" Peter asked.

"He is supposed to ferry the stars here," Edmund said. "From all the worlds. I suppose he will travel there, now that he can."

"Now that he can?"

"You need a soul to cross the border between worlds. The stars couldn't do so, though I think they may have been able to communicate somehow, despite the barrier. Now they can all come here, to a place where they can earn themselves souls."

"How do you know all this?" Eustace asked and his voice was light as he spoke.

"It was written on the Stone Table."

"Then how come you didn't say anything when you were reading?" Lucy asked, genuinely puzzled.

"It's hard enough to translate, it's worse when you have to do it as you read," he said, shrugging. "I wanted to make sure I got it all in context, and then I was gone. There was no time."

Susan sneezed and, as one, they all turned to her. "Are you okay?" Jill asked, helping her shed the soaked jacket. Then, "Edmund, what happened to your clothes?"

"What happened to you?" Peter asked slowly, though Edmund could see the idea was already forming in his mind. As usual when the growing idea seemed to great to handle, he chased it away with more questions. "You say that Rilian has a soul now, but how can this be, when Caspian is here…" A sudden realisation closed his mouth with an audible snap. "Did he lose it?" and it seemed like such a simple, obvious explanation for what had transpired, that everyone turned to stare at Caspian with horror and pity.

"No," Edmund said. "I think it is too tarnished to do much good to anyone now." Caspian looked at him with a dark frown.

"Then how! If this affair was precipitated by the stars to take his soul away, how come it's over now?"

Edmund said nothing, he merely stood there and waited. Sure enough, after a minute Susan shuddered and cried out softly. "Edmund! You look like them!" she said, and it made very little sense, except of course to her it must have.

"Like us?" Peter looked between them, but surely he had already made the connection - the High King was no fool. "Ed, what did you do?"

"It was written that the promise the king made, he couldn't keep, and so Narnia died to keep it in his stead. You must know, Pete, that Narnia's heart is tied to her king."

"So Rilian did get a soul after all," Lucy said clapping her hand together. "And neither of you had to die!" Edmund supposed the full implication would hit her before she left the reborn world. He didn't envy her the upcoming realisation.

"That's not strictly true," Edmund said ruefully.

"What did you do?" Peter asked, this time with an air of menace.

"Really, do I need to draw you a picture? I wasn't dead; the promise hinged somehow on my death, don't ask me how. I dare say that required no genius to solve."

"Suicide is a mortal sin!"

Edmund grinned darkly at that. "It is a good thing, then, that I cannot return to heaven anyway."

"Edmund," Peter said meanwhile, and his face was so much harder to look at, for the disappointment and shock. "What do you mean by 'cannot return'?"

"Lilliandil said I was broken. She was right. I don't think I can stand to be there, when there was nothing to force me to keep myself together. Inevitably I would break and then-" Edmund hesitated. The memory of the light beneath the bridges and mountains was strong and beckoning. "I'm sorry," he said. "I cannot risk that happening." It was only partly a lie, and yet it was still easier to voice than the truth.

Lucy was on the verge of crying. "But you cannot go, Ed! You cannot leave us!"

"It will be fine. You won't even be troubled by my absence. There is nothing but joy and happiness there, and no place for sorrow," he said, reaching out to embrace her.

She didn't look convinced. "You'll be gone!"

"Oh, Lu."

"But if you died," Susan started saying, "What shall I tell Jane? What shall I tell Aunt Alberta?"

Edmund was reluctant to look at her. "This I am most sorry for," he said. "Su… I don't know. I don't even know if there will be anything to bury."

"You would leave me all alone in England," she said, rather coldly for her usual disposition.

"Susan, I shall beg for your forgiveness, when we meet again. I can only hope you will grant it."

"You'd better!" She'd come forth to hold him, and if her fingers dug into his arms hard enough to cause pain, if her breath hitched and if there was moisture on the shoulder of his shirt, neither of them commented. "I will have you grovel before I forgive you, be prepared for that."

"I am." There was so much he would have to pay for, he expected.

"Is this a good bye?" Jill asked, opening her eyes wide. "Surely not!"

"I fear it must be." Far behind them Aslan was finishing his talk with Rilian and surely that would mean their time here was ending.

"Don't you dare even imply you won't see us again," Peter said. "I will not have it."

"I know. I shan't. Good bye."

There were embraces and tears and, though Eustace and Emeth seemed wary of approaching Caspian more than necessary, good wishes for them both.

"I shall do unspeakable things to you," Peter told Caspian as farewell, "if you dare to hurt my brother. If you hide in the least world in existence, I will find you and harm you." Peter hesitated, then, with a long-suffering expression, half-turned to Edmund. "This is a courtesy I am extending to Caspian as well, so beware."

Edmund wondered if there was a limit to the truths he could keep buried from his family, if perhaps he wouldn't burst and exclaim what a sham this spectacle was. He didn't have the heart to tell Peter he very much doubted the possibility of a reunion, or that there was sure to be hurt and mutual betrayal.

"Thank you," he said and for a second - when his face was thoroughly hidden by Peter's shirt - he allowed himself a grimace of pain. "Good-bye, brother."

"Oh Aslan," Lucy said meanwhile. "Cannot something be done? Surely there is a way for Edmund and Caspian to stay!"

"Dearest, I can no more change their fate, when it comes about by their own choice, than I can change what I am." Aslan looked Edmund in the eye. "Have you made your farewells, sons of Adam?"

"Will you look after Susan?" Edmund asked. "She will have trouble on her hands, no matter what that world discovers of my fate."

"Do not worry," the lion said, and at least that was spoken softly. "Though do not delude yourself into thinking I can spare her more than the investigation of the authorities into your suicide."

Susan jerked, then, as though the thought had never crossed her mind. Likely it hadn't. She had, no doubt, considered none of the consequences, didn't even think past the implications. She likely still didn't realise that Uncle Harold's frequent visits were less about seeing how they managed and more about seeing whether their mental state was acceptable.

"There's a letter in my desk," Edmund said. "If nothing else, it should be proof."

"I'm sure this will be a great comfort to people," Susan said bitterly. "It is of tremendous comfort to me, that you were contemplating such a deed in the first place!"

Edmund caught her eye and looked down. Fortunately, Aslan chose to spare them. "Susan," he said softly. "You too must make your farewells. I shall send you to your world soon."

She looked down and nodded. Her hands were clenched and tears trailed down her face.

"Rilian," Aslan said loud enough for the ground to shake.

"Sire."

There had been some change to his face, Edmund noted. There had always been a hint of light that clung to him like the light of the sun clings to the moon, but now Rilian was shining in his own right. Edmund dared not speculate on how a soul influenced that, but he seemed far less human now.

"I shall not interfere in your land; if it pleases you that these two should leave, you must open the door for them to pass into the Wood in-between."

There was a tense moment when Rilian just gazed at them, serene as only a star can be. "Certainly," he said at long last.

For a moment he was uncertain, as though he was trying to perform a trick he had never once attempted previously. Edmund supposed building a bridge between worlds was one of the trickiest to attempt. Rilian took a step back and suddenly where he'd stood there was a door, shimmering in the starlight like an image shimmers over the heat of the flame.

Edmund took Caspian's hand and, with one last look at his brother and sisters, at his cousin and friends, they stepped through the portal into the Wood Between Worlds.


	14. A Clear Midnight

Title: Along the Midnight Edge

Rating: 18

Genre: drama, romance

Pairings: Edmund/Caspian

Wordcount: 80k

Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes

Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian's reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years' history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.

[CHAPTER FOURTEEN - A Clear Midnight]

Edmund had thought the dead world was quiet, but next to the peace and serenity of the wood, the world they had left behind was as noisy as a train station in the heart of London. He breathed and let the golden peacefulness envelop him. Or at least he tried to.

"It's beautiful," Caspian said softly. "May we stay here awhile?"

"If you so desire, you may," Aslan said. "You will find peace here; perhaps in time you will find it in your heart to repent. Perhaps, then, you would be allowed to return to my country."

"I may?" Caspian asked, emphasising the first syllable.

"Without Edmund." Aslan's voice grew wild and low.

Caspian opened his mouth and then closed it again. Even he must have known anger would solve nothing at this point. "You dare to try and separate us? After what you've done, after what you've made us do, you dare to try and separate us!"

"Caspian," Edmund began, but he was not allowed to finish.

"I would sooner see the worlds destroyed. I would sooner see you dead!"

"Calm yourself, Caspian," the lion said. "You accuse me of crimes committed against you, when it was you who destroyed the preordained order of things, brought death upon a world which needed not suffer it."

"I don't regret it."

"You will, because you still do not understand. You've torn yourselves apart with a careless promise, to be forever split between two worlds, and so in no other place than here, where all worlds meet, will you feel at peace, when you are not together. Can you comprehend that?"

"Better than you think," Edmund said, remembering all the nights spent in the dormitories, listening to the sound of breathing and wondering whether somewhere, anywhere at all, Caspian was sleeping too, or did he lie awake, wondering as he was.

"Do you consider this a victory, Edmund?"

"Yes, rather."

"Then know that for you there shall be no peace here, son of Adam. All who come here find it tranquil and beautiful, but you shan't. It will be stifling and suffocating, and yet here is where you will return time and again, for it is here that all stories end and all stories begin."

"Where should I go, then?"

"Anywhere." Aslan looked around, towards the hundreds of ponds in the sight and billions, undoubtedly hidden in the forest. "Everywhere. You need but to step into any of the ponds to enter its world, but be warned: your journey shall be arduous, as it is not a reward, but punishment."

Edmund said nothing, but there was a strange kind of calmness in him, despite the prophesied unrest. "I accept," he said softly.

"Farewell then," the great lion said, bowing to touch Edmund's forehead briefly. He did the same to Caspian and then he was gone, like he had never been there.

"Why did you let me say nothing?" Caspian turned to Edmund with fire in his eyes and fury in his voice. "You would leave your siblings, your friends, in his care, when he tried to kill you?"

"Heaven is where they belong," Edmund said and looked at Rilian, who'd stood back during the talk. "You remained."

"I don't think we are quite finished, Edmund. Father."

"I do owe you the duel, I recall. If you think now is the right time, then I must first find for myself a sword, for I find myself defenceless."

"No, the duel can wait. I shall be looking forward to it." Rilian gave Edmund a speculative look. "I might use the time to put down the rules in writing and appoint seconds, just in case."

"This may prove necessary."

"I was wondering, what is it that you plan?"

Edmund looked at Caspian, who'd been staring elsewhere. In his gaze there was something much like peace. His anger was draining, replaced by the wondrous peace that the wood bestowed on whoever visited, the peace of timeless serenity.

"I expect we will stay here for some time," he said, even as the unrest Aslan promised made itself known.

"Then you would choose a world and travel through it," Rilian finished for him.

"To be fair, there aren't many other options to pursue."

"True." Rilian smiled ruefully. "Well then, as you are about to embark, let me say this-" He stepped closer to Edmund - this was most perplexing, Edmund found, but he could not move, his limbs defied his orders from the moment Rilian's hands locked around his wrists - and kissed him.

Edmund wasn't expecting it, but evidently he should have, because Rilian kissed with the mindless determination of one who had plans and was fulfilling them, regardless of consequence. Edmund knew the feeling well - it had driven him the past months (or weeks, or days, however long it had been).

Rilian was staring at him, as much as the angle would allow. He was still cold, Edmund noted absently. It was rather like kissing a marble statue, he imagined, though his experience in that matter was severely limited and the one statue he had kissed lacked teeth.

It didn't last long - before Caspian had time to recover from the shock Rilian released him and Edmund stumbled and fell, as his muscles seemed to have forgotten how to hold him upright.

He noted absently that his lip was bleeding. That would be the teeth.

"Interesting," Edmund said as he got up. "I hadn't thought that it was dangerous for you to touch me."

"It is not."

"Then why the spell?"

Rilian smiled. "For fear of protest, let us assume." His voice was a little strangled, as Caspian had, upon recovering, grabbed him by the shirt and held him fast against a trunk of a tree.

"Caspian, let him go."

"Why must you insist on ruining each and every one of my revenge attempts?"

"I only do it when I strongly object to you taking revenge."

"Which is every single time!"

"Which is twice, so far!"

"Both times it was against Rilian. Surely by now you understand that it is not a fleeting fancy of mine, but a necessary act, borne of genuine concern."

"I do find it endearing, that you would leap to protect Edmund's honour in this fashion. How you didn't end up being my mother, I shall never understand."

"I see Caspian failed to provide you with adequate education," Edmund said with a laugh. "Dare I ask what brought this on?"

Rilian smirked. "I can walk between worlds now," he said, as though that was an answer. "The stars can see through the barriers, but they cannot cross them. I can."

"I'm happy for you. What is the meaning of this?"

"Only this, ifather/i. I have no desire to kill you; I imagine I mustn't, lest I upset the great lion. But I will not forgive you for killing mother and I swear you shall be repaid in kind."

"I won't let you," Edmund said, laying a restraining a hand on Caspian's shoulder, in the very same moment as Caspian's eyes narrowed and he growled, "I dare you to try. I will burn you, burn your precious world to dust if you dare."

"Then it will be most interesting." Rilian bowed to them. "Farewell, until we meet again." He straightened and a shimmering door in the air swallowed him. For a moment before it closed Edmund thought he could see a sky full of stars.

"This will be interesting," Edmund said, and winced. His hands were starting to shake.

"Are you all right?"

"I think this may be the unease Aslan spoke of."

"Then we better hurry and choose a pond to depart this place."

"There's no need to make rash decisions." Unlike Aslan's country, though the very same light seemed to be present in both places, Edmund was quite certain he would not break easily here; this was not the kind of place where things happened, Digory had said, and Edmund believed that. This was a place where things were, not necessarily better, or prettier, or more true. They just were.

He forced Caspian to sit on the ground. "Are you well?"

"Of course I am not. What did you expect?"

"It will pass in time. Especially here. You cannot cling to corruption here."

"What will pass? The fact that I had murdered my wife and would have done the same to my son, had I not been stopped? Or the fact that you thought this might happen and still you said nothing to warn me of the possibility."

Edmund averted his eyes. Caspian was hurting; it was evident in the tone of his voice, in the slump of his shoulders and he had brought it upon him. "I am not a soothsayer. How was I to know you would kill anyone?"

"Are you deaf and blind?"

Edmund bit his lip then hissed, when he remembered the cut. "I'm not."

"I would have done it even without the corruption," Caspian said softly. He raised his head and looked into Edmund's eyes. "I waited for the opportunity when you were gone, and prayed that I would have one."

"Their plan was revolting. I do not blame you."

Caspian sprang to his feet. "Is that all you have to say? Is this so easy for you, to watch others bloody their hands for you, when you walk away unscathed?" He whirled and punched the nearest tree, then he did it again and again, until his knuckles were a bloody mess, and he would have kept at it, had Edmund not leapt to restrain him.

"Hit me instead," he whispered into Caspian's ear, wrapping his arms around him, burrowing his face in Caspian's neck. "Surely I deserve it more than the tree. I could have stopped you. You are right, I knew what you thought. I pride myself on knowing how you think, so I knew. I am to blame for what you feel right now." He hesitated. "I love you and I used you, but it is so much worse, because it was not to keep us safe. This, this banishment didn't need to happen at all and the only reason it did is because I chose it. I hated Aslan's land, it suffocated me, even if it made you happy, I-" Edmund inhaled sharply. There was so much guilt in him, so much fear, because even if he had wanted what he got, even if he didn't regret the choices that had led him to this place, here and now was the true gamble. He would have stood anything at all, death, annihilation, the loss of his whole family and his world (wherever that might be), but if Caspian couldn't forgive him, then he would have lost.

"I brought Susan with me as bait for the creatures, to force your hand," he continued and Caspian shivered. "They wouldn't attack me, I feared, even when I was in mortal flesh - they feared me so much when I was dead. I brought with me one I knew they wouldn't be able to resist.

"If you wish to punish anyone, let it be me. I think I deserve it more than you do."

"You would use your own sister as bait? To make me renounce everything I held dear in Narnia?" Caspian freed himself from Edmund's embrace, pushed him to the ground and knelt atop him. One of his hands was raised threateningly, while the other was splayed on Edmund's chest, pinning him down, wholly unnecessarily, as Edmund wasn't inclined to fight in the slightest. He merely watched as Caspian closed his fist and didn't flinch when it came down, just short of his face.

"I don't know what I'm asking for, do I?" Caspian wrapped his mouth around the words, savoured their texture and taste. There was a halo of light and leaves about his dark head, alighting on the loose hair that floated about his face and for the life of him Edmund didn't know what thoughts were flitting through his mind.

Edmund closed his eyes and smiled lightly. "I thought you wouldn't."

Caspian spoke as one waking from a dream. Perhaps, in a way, he was; if he ever dreamed of romance that was sublime and pure in its intention. If that was the case, the waking must have come too late, and it was far too late to turn back.

Edmund waited for what felt like hours, listening to the silence of the forest. It struck him how alien it was, how utterly uncanny. There were no birds, no rustling to indicate the presence of squirrels or mice or other rodents. There was no wind, therefore the leaves and needles did not move. There was no creature to tread on the grass, either. There were so many ponds, but not even a hint of a splash. Yet, for the motionless atmosphere, the air was fresh and alive.

He needed to be out of here, Edmund thought at last, when the silence threatened to suffocate him. Then - only then - did he feel the gentle lapping upon his bloodied lip.

Caspian's tongue tasted of iron when it slipped into Edmund's mouth.

Edmund arched his back, but found himself restrained by the grip Caspian had on his wrists, by the weight on his hips. His only success was that Caspian drew a sharp breath at the unexpected movement and pressed against him in retaliation.

Any victory was short-lived, at best. Caspian returned the favour with another bruising kiss, which quickly slid from Edmund's mouth and onto his neck and the juncture of his shoulder, to reach the fresh mark that marred his throat. The fastenings of his shirt were undone, and Caspian latched onto the mark on Edmund's chest, worrying the flesh with his teeth and Edmund clenched his jaws and mewled.

He could have stayed silent through torture and through injury, but he was nigh powerless against the waves of heat that caused by the touch of Caspian's lips and tongue upon the mark. It couldn't have been safe, he thought when his breath caught and he worried the cut of his lip open anew. He felt as though he would break under Caspian's ministrations, as though his whole being was touched simultaneously, and it was both stimulating and frightening. He would surely break in Caspian's hands. He would be torn open and all this would have been for naught; he would remain a formless spectre with no memory, haunting this sacred place.

He'd deserve it, too, he thought in despair. Every moment of losing what he was would surely be prolonged into agony, he would feel it all: every memory slipping away from him, every second which made him Edmund, every moment spent with Caspian, too few of those, they would be gone and he would watch them all go, leaving him bare and terrified, like a new-born, doomed to never learn, never progress, stuck in this place without time as a nameless creature of no past and no future.

Sulphur and flame would have been his preference - sulphur, flame and memory. It would have been heaven, in comparison.

Caspian had used Edmund's distraction to hold both his hands above his head, and then to use the shirt Edmund was wearing to tie them together. Edmund watched him do so without so much as a peep, though his heart was hammering wildly. The knots were tight enough to force his elbows up and his spine to arch over the soft grass.

Caspian's teeth scraped against the flesh of Edmund's chest, then bit into it, and they were not the teasing bites meant to entice. These would leave nasty bruises right next to the mark of the knife, over his heart and that would have been good, to have Caspian end him, for good, to have Caspian save him from this hell.

There were fingernails digging into the tender skin on Edmund's back, hard enough to draw blood. Edmund made no sound.

Caspian sat up and looked down at him with what might have been despair, but for the lust in his gaze.

Edmund should have been ashamed of how easy this was. Caspian might have been hurting and coming to terms with his crimes and those committed around and against him, but given a willing body and an opportunity he would inevitably fall prey to carnal desire sooner rather than later. Already his eyes were feral and dark, already his touch was feverish. Edmund arched into his touch, feeling the echoes of Caspian's desire, and found himself pushed back to the ground rather brutally. His arms strained under the pressure but Caspian didn't let him go just yet.

When he finally moved, Edmund was on the verge of biting through his tongue, but still he wouldn't make a sound; he wouldn't dare. Caspian didn't go far, in any case - just far enough to remove their boots and trousers, and for a moment Edmund was free, but for the bindings on his arms.

He didn't move. He didn't breathe.

Caspian returned to him then, roughly pushing Edmund's legs apart, even as he bent to mark Edmund's shoulder with his teeth. His fingernails left red, angry marks wherever they trailed. Blood blossomed on some of them, red, perfect, like ripe berries, which burst and smeared at the merest touch. Caspian only noticed when his hand came to grip Edmund's chin, and he stared at the red staining his fingertips in fascination, pressed a thumb to a darkening mark on Edmund's hip, dragged the red line across his stomach.

Slowly, he brought the bloodied fingers to his lips, licking the redness off them. Edmund watched his tongue dance, watched Caspian watch him in turn. Watched him, as long as he was able to, as long as the awkward angle of his spine would allow him to, until Caspian slid down his body, pressed his mouth against the stinging scratch mark on his abdomen, gripping his hip so hard Edmund felt the bone within strain.

A rough hand brushed his erection and Edmund trembled, though there was pain mixed with the pleasure. He felt the storm within him rage. Holding it in was an effort almost beyond human strength, and it would get so much worse before it could be better. Caspian spread him open without a trace of tenderness, forcing submission, pushed into him without care.

This was perhaps not what Edmund would have done in Caspian's position - surely it would have been easier were he on his hands and knees. Surely much less effort would have to be expended. Absently, Edmund made a note to become better versed in torture techniques, if only for the theoretical value and possible anatomical insight, even if surely there could be no lasting damage done, not here, not when he was already dead and the stone knife was buried in the newly reborn world.

Caspian jerked against him, violently. Edmund looked at his face and found his heart lurching. Caspian's eyes were truly dead and dark with despair, and Edmund thought that he almost, almost understood the reason for it - it couldn't have been the killing of Lilliandil; he had been almost peaceful about the act. It couldn't have been Rilian; it couldn't have been the loss of heaven…

It was but the work of a moment to undo the knots holding his arms together. Edmund might not have been the sailor Caspian was, but the skill of letting himself be bound in such a way as to allow for easy untying was one he had cultivated. It was a little harder to flip them over, but Caspian was so out of balance he barely took notice, until he was lying on his back and Edmund's hands were on his shoulders.

"You're hurting me." Edmund whispered.

"You let me," Caspian whispered back.

They stared at each other in silence. Finally, Caspian looked away and started picking on a blade of grass. "Such a shame you stopped me when you did. I was about to fetch the blade." He spoke in earnest, Edmund realised. He should perhaps be surprised. He wasn't.

"You don't have a knife."

"Am I to understand you have never taken to having pieces of garments fashioned into weapons? Such an oversight from the illustrious ancient king."

"I would rather solve problems before it comes to blows." Edmund closed his eyes and leaned back. Caspian shuddered underneath him, gasped for breath. When finally his hands crept up Edmund's thighs they were trembling, but that was fine, that was perfect, as Edmund was trembling too. "I don't fancy hurting."

Caspian muttered something vague in response. Then, a little louder, "Are you…"

"Bruises and scratches," Edmund said, rocking against Caspian's hips. He rather enjoyed how the motion made him throw his head back and groan, how it seemed to shoot up his spine in a blinding flash, regardless of the pain. "Nothing worse."

"I should have you put in the stocks for this." An empty threat, if there ever was one. Edmund barely held in a laugh.

"You worry you hurt me and yet you want me in stocks."

"Edmund," Caspian said, angrily, but the anger was short lived. He reached out, brushed his fingers against Edmund's lips, lingering briefly on the nasty cut there. Edmund leaned into the gentle touch. He had been truthful; he did not enjoy inflicting pain, nor having in inflicted on him. Still, he was aroused now, and Caspian would inevitably break, whether through sexual release or the emotional turmoil, which was already threatening to overwhelm him. It would be far safer to console him when he was spent and sleepy, Edmund thought, so, mindless of the ache, he began rocking in Caspian's lap.

As expected, Caspian shuddered and then let out a moan, a low, lovely sound that Edmund found reverberating in his body. He shook and then arched, gripping Edmund's hips, as he reached completion. He held Edmund's gaze as the pleasure washed through him, as it rocked gently until all the energy was spent and Caspian was free of the turmoil, spent - aching, but free.

It was then that Edmund noticed he was shaking too. Why would he? He was not cold and he was not wounded, for surely the scratches were not enough to cause more than casual discomfort. Nevertheless, the shaking got so bad that Caspian, though he should by rights be too distracted to notice, had taken hold of Edmund's hands, lifted him off his body and laid him on the ground.

"It is all right," he said softly. His beard tickled Edmund's ear. "There's no need for that." His teasing fingers skimmed the pale skin of Edmund's belly, coming to rest at his cock.

"Need for what?" Edmund tried asking, but it was so hard to form coherent words, when his whole body was trembling too violently to even draw a proper breath. Caspian's face obscured his vision of the sky - what sky, he wondered absently, as he could see only the leaves and the whiteness beyond, shining through like a giant midday sun, too close for the moderate temperature - and his warm body was warm and heavy on top of his. Edmund thought, just for a moment, that he was to die, then, no matter the promises and thinly veiled threats made by lions. His eyes closed and he let out a moan.

"Ed," Caspian was saying softly. He lay on his side, absently drawing patterns on Edmund's abdomen.

Edmund turned his head to look at him, but his vision was blurry, as though he was removed from the world by a sheet of wet glass.

"We will be fine," Caspian said. "I promise. No matter what awaits us, we will be fine."

"I cannot help but think you are disregarding a monstrous amount of facts." If the words came out sounding like half-sobs, Edmund was glad no one was there to notice. "We are nowhere near fine; I don't think there's a hope of us ever being fine."

"Don't cry."

"I am not crying."

"I could cite a monstrous amount of facts that point to the contrary."

Edmund grinned, an effort thoroughly spoiled by a bout of hiccoughs. "Naturally," he said as Caspian started laughing.

If perhaps the tears flowed freely then, if Caspian had to wrap him in his arms and cling as though there were wild horses trying to tear them apart, Edmund preferred not to take notice. He hid his face in the juncture of Caspian's neck and shoulder and wept, for the brother and sisters he had lost, and would probably never see again, who wouldn't cry for him or even recall his name. He wept for the sister who would mourn and bury another sibling, who would be alone in the world, until she could rejoin her family and forget him. He wept for Caspian, who had been greatly wronged, and for Rilian, who had achieved everything his people wished for him and lost his family for it.

He wept for the world of peace he'd abandoned and could never return to; he wept for the dissolving of the illusions of innocence he held dear. He cried, because still he couldn't find it in him to feel guilt, couldn't regret his actions, couldn't ask for a greater reward than the one he'd received, when he had gone against everything he should have blindly obeyed.

Eventually he had cried his last, and yet he remained unwilling to move. He was in some discomfort - Caspian was heavy and angular, the forest floor was rich in stones and irregularities that dug into his naked skin. The scratches were starting to itch, the bruises ached.

"I have no regrets," Caspian whispered into his ear. "I know what pains you, for it hurts me as well, but I wish you to know that I do not regret losing that which is now out of our reach. Not when I have you."

Edmund closed his eyes, breathed in the warm air of the forest, the salty scent of Caspian and tasted it on his tongue. Perhaps that was what being forgiven was like, he wondered. Not the blinding, immaculate absolution he'd expected, had hoped for, but a warm, flawed hand in his, taking on half the burden, until it seemed quite small.

"Sooner or later your meagre expectations will come back to haunt you," he said. The tip of his nose brushed Caspian's when he turned his head and they stared at one another cross-eyed.

"It has taken many deaths and, from what I gather, a major catastrophe to ensure this. I would hardly call it meagre, when the scope seems to be more on the cosmic scale."

"I was referring to ends rather than means."

"So was I."

Edmund sighed. "Despite better judgement, I cannot help but agree."

"I've started to doubt your judgement's value. Particularly now."

Edmund stared at the luminescent ceiling of leaves above.

"I can't have you doing something like that again, Edmund. Especially when you are so adept at making me think I know what I'm doing," Caspian turned, so that he could fix his eyes on the same spot Edmund found so engrossing.

"Don't you usually know what you're doing?"

"I usually think I know what I'm doing, as you were so kind to demonstrate." Caspian grinned. "I find it's easier not to think, but to let the event guide me into what must be done."

"That's foolish."

"Then I remember you think too hard, and it depresses you, and I know I'm right."

"Now this is idiocy."

"I understand that better than you think."

"I very much doubt it."

Edmund closed his eyes. "Would you leave me?"

"What kind of nonsense is that?"

"I have wondered if it would be possible for you to leave me. Or," he continued reluctantly, "for me to leave you."

"And would it?"

"I don't know." Liar, Edmund's very amused inner voice told him. You could no more leave Caspian than you could abandon your own brain at the side of the road, and not only because you are now bound together by promises and curses. "I don't think so."

"That at least is something to be thankful for."

"Is it really? We are not safe to be around, don't you see?"

Caspian grinned. "Only when whoever is around means us harm, and then I would be inclined not to care."

"Tell that to my siblings."

"You haven't actually harmed them."

"If you perceive not losing me as not harming, then I wonder why is it we are even talking about this." In the end this would hurt Edmund more than it hurt them, when they wouldn't even remember, but Peter's face when they said good-bye was pained and Edmund regretted every minute he would have to go on, believing that he had failed to protect and save his little brother.

"I confess, this I have not considered."

"So I'm noticing."

"Still, they will be fine," Caspian said. "As I recall you only started to remember Susan after it had already began to go wrong, and it is my understanding that it only began to go wrong to allow for an ending. It is my understanding that they are well now."

"You are not terribly sympathetic."

"I emerged victorious from the scuffle and I have no audience to feign magnanimity before."

"You emerged a violent murder."

"Which more than accounts for the lack of empathy, wouldn't you say?"

There was silence. "What do we do now?"

"I should like to stay here forever. It is so peaceful." Caspian closed his eyes and breathed and Edmund tried biting his lip to quell the feeling of unease and dread. He didn't want to spend another minute in the forest, lest he become paranoid.

"I cannot," he said quietly, when his still bleeding lip resisted further harm. "I don't feel well."

"I do believe some progress has been made," Caspian said, rolling onto his side to press the pad of his thumb to Edmund's mouth. "Thank you."

"This doesn't exactly solve our troubles."

"It solves enough. I'm ready to depart this very minute."

"We need not hurry that much. Aslan said I wouldn't find peace here, not that I would be violently ill for staying longer than an hour."

"There's no cause to remain when you are not comfortable."

"I can stand to be here for some time." Edmund smiled at nothing in particular. "I promise I shan't overexert myself. I don't think I would like a repeat performance." The words were hard to say, when Caspian's mouth was brushing his and the endless forest was suddenly as small as the two of them.

"Me neither," Caspian said and his gaze was dark, but it was not the empty, distant darkness the corruption had brought on, but something human, something soft and desperate. In it was the need to wrap Edmund in a protective cocoon and never let him go; in it was all the love that would soon make them both sick, if there was nothing else.

"Perhaps a little while," Edmund said, "and then we shall go."

Caspian smiled and their lips met, in a slow, almost chaste, caress that was nothing at all like lovemaking but rather like the return home, to a dearest, oldest friend.

They had no means by which to measure time. They felt neither hunger nor sleepiness; the forest never changed; there was neither day nor night. Edmund was forced to conclude that there was no time in this strange place that was between all others.

Eventually, however, he found he could no longer go on. His hands had started shaking; at first there were the gentle tremors of fingers such as one might experience when agitated, but then he would have trouble with buttons and fastenings. He would clutch his hands together and the shaking would cease for a while. However when it returned it would be twice as bad.

The shaking was not quite so bad as the fear, growing in the back of his mind. It had been unease and a vaguely defined ache, such as one might experience when looking into a dark, abandoned house, right after reading a horror novel, but the longer they stayed the more defined it became, whilst always staying just out of reach.

"I cannot bear it any longer," Edmund said at last, talking to a great oak, if it was an oak - the shape of the leaves was off - similar, but if he looked at them long enough they were too big, too meaty to be any kind of trees that England, or even Narnia, might grow.

There was the hint of a smile in the kiss he felt against his hair. "Then we shall go."

And so, they came to stand at the edge of a pool, no more than two yards across, in which the light gleamed the brightest. "Have you any idea what shall we find in it?" Caspian asked.

Edmund had none. He didn't even know whether the magic that transported him and Susan out of the forest would work without a ring to ignite it. Perhaps this was to be his punishment, to go mad from the nameless, formless nightmares in his waking state, as Caspian watched.

He rejected the thought.

"Given that we managed to overcome millennia-old plots, a marriage and separate worlds, I dare to be hopeful now," Caspian said.

Edmund laughed. "Yes, it does sound like we have very little to fear."

"In case the world is horrid enough to separate us right away," Caspian said, and instead of finishing the sentence kissed Edmund on the lips. It was a promise, an affirmation, a token. Edmund returned the kiss with equal passion.

Their hands entwined and they took the step forward, into the water. Though the pool was less than a few inches deep, they fell for what seemed like hours, and with every passing moment Edmund felt his heart lighten.

Then, at the very end, there was light.

END.


End file.
